


Kisses through the Veil

by the_charm_caster



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Ball dancing, Charles Getting Uncomfortable, M/M, Protective!Erik, Weddings, smitten!Erik, sorta of asoiaf AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:12:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_charm_caster/pseuds/the_charm_caster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A truce between two powerful Houses, and the youngest son of House of Xavier is wedded to Ser Lehnsherr. But there are motives behind smiles and shadows underneath the candlelight.<br/>In which, step-fathers are cold and mean, a perfect wedding goes wrong, but maybe, there is solace behind the horizon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/9701.html?thread=21578469#t21578469) prompt from the kink meme. As the OP says, its a kinkier version of the Westeros Wedding.  
> Beta'd by the lovely afrocurl! =)

It wasn’t that Charles hadn’t heard of Ser Lehnsherr.

Everyone had.

It was just that, in person, he was really enticing. Even with the distance of the great Hallway between them, Charles could pick out the mind of his husband-to-be.

His _husband-to-be._

Charles bit his lip, looking down from where he was waiting at the gates of the ceremonial hall. Butterflies in his stomach and cold feet and jitters, he was having all of them.

Though his consent really didn’t matter when the honor of the House of Xavier was in question, it especially didn’t matter to his step-father, but Charles was actually looking forward to the wedding. The _truce_ , for his step-father, but Charles wanted to think of it as a proper wedding.

Well, there were ribboned flowers glowing in the candlelight and dressed up guests and blood red wine, the best quality of course –after all this was a wedding in the House of Xavier, living up to its name- and everything else that defined a “proper wedding”. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but wonder what changed his ambitious step-father’s mind and for once, the vindictive Lord Kurt Marko actually did something for Charles. Staying so many years with Sharon Xavier had taught him to keep his curiosity in check and Charles knew better than to question his Lord father’s decisions, but he was in fact, of all things, _surprised_. It was hard figuring out what was Lord Kurt Marko’s real motive behind this wedding.

Charles knew that a matrimonial alliance with one of the most powerful Houses of the North would not only mean more gain for the leaders of both the Houses, but also invoke fear in the hearts of all those who would want to revolt against the under-the-table procedures of his step-father. Still. Charles knew his step-father had so many different ways to gain power. Lord Marko could wed Raven, Charles’ half-sister, to one of the potential Lords. Or one of the lovely dames of the East could’ve been proposed for his step-brother, Cain Marko. Why did he choose Charles of all of his children?

Something was off about the way his step-father, who was currently standing three steps behind him with his wife, and who always shielded his mind whenever they discussed the wedding. But Charles suspected it was Lord Marko _finally getting rid of his bothersome step-son,_ as the ale-induced mind of his step-father once declared involuntarily.

Charles decided to ignore the soft ache in his heart, the void left behind by the death of his lord father, Ser Brian Xavier, and leave it all in the past. There were more things that he should be bothered about right now. Things like his wedding. And his husband to-be.

_‘Ready?’_

It was the gentle whisper of Raven’s excited voice in his mind. Charles looked at her from the corner of his eyes, and met her smile.

_‘Yes.’_

_‘Charles, it’s all for the good. Believe me,’_ came her soothing reply before she took her position behind his parents. He took his first step into the grand hall, and on cue, the strings and keys filled the hushed atmosphere with heavenly music.

He stole a glance at his to-be lord husband. Clad in the midnight cloak of the House of Lehnsherr, the groom was standing at the end of the aisle with his house representatives.

The Xaviers paused as the entire House crossed the threshold. The herald announced their arrival and the honors of each member in relation. Charles took the opportunity to sneak a few more looks.

The only golden celtic knot of House of Lehnsherr in the entire hall, was holding together the violet-and-black cloak of his husband to-be, Charles analyzed. Charles took in the tall, handsome figure of Ser Lehnsherr, clad in dark clothes that complemented his hair and highlighted the silver in his eyes. The only living heir with direct blood connections to the mighty House. Ser Lehnsherr had lost his father even before his birth; and his mother, Lady Edie Lehnsherr had passed away when he had barely crossed his eleventh summer, as Charles had gathered. And the young Lehnsherr had taken the House of Lehnsherr to the current heights, all on his own. Smart and far-sighted and never getting distracted from his ambitions. And one of the only living metalbenders in the entire kingdom as well.

And as if that weren’t _alluring_ enough, Charles had gathered _other_ information from the minds of unsuspecting lords and ladies as they arrived one by one during the past month. Yes, he knew that his mother would be upset if she came to know about his little musings. But Charles couldn’t help himself! He was curious. And _heavens_! His little snooping around has resulted in him blushing all the way to the roots of his hair.

The ladies secretly discussed how they had heard of Charles’ groom being so _wild_ in bed, and how they were actually jealous of the House of Xavier’s youngest son. One of the ladies even had a distant cousin who was fortunate enough to actually spend a night in Ser Lehnsherr’s bed, and she couldn’t describe him in words lesser than _ecstatic_. So pleasuring and absolutely devouring, one of the most _blessed_ men- probably he was a favorite of some goddess of fertility or some god of seduction, unsatisfied, and unyielding, and white hot and-

At that exact moment, Ser Lehnsherr looked up to him, as if he could see Charles’ face through his veil. As if he could hear his thoughts. Charles looked away, his heart skipping a beat and two, feeling his face heating.

Charles had crossed his seventeenth summer barely two months ago, and it was still months ‘til his first heat, but somehow, just thinking about his husband was heating the blood in his veins.

 Suppressing a shiver, he waited till the herald finished the ceremonial announcements.

He tried to think rationally. Obviously Ser Lehnsherr couldn’t see his through his veil or listen to what he was thinking. Charles took in a deep breath, looking up to the end of the aisle again.

There were others, standing next to him, clad in the same midnight cloaks of House of Lehnsherr, but none other had the insignia of the golden knot. A woman with perfect blond hair stood beside him, and from the distance Charles could barely make out the jewel studded diamond of her cloak brooch. She must be Lady Emma of the House of Frost and oh Lord! Charles quickly strengthened his mental shields as he recalled her being a telepath, just like him.

He recognized the blue tornado of the House of Quested and red horns and tail of the House of Neyaphim, on two of the other representatives standing beside the groom. Alright. Charles didn’t know the either of them personally, but he had heard about their powers, through the excited maids and servants; creating whirlwinds out of thin air and the amazing power of teleportation respectively, and getting to see so many of the mutant lords under one roof was really inspiring.

Ser Lehnsherr did have many powerful friends and associates, Charles could see that. The cloak of a House was only given to close friends and allies at ceremonies like this, and Charles found himself curious to know how _close_ were these Houses. Would Charles ever be able to talk to the mutants himself? Would he meet more of them? With permission of his Lord husband of course. But he had heard that his to-be husband travelled a lot, and met a lot of mutants. Would he ever take Charles along with him for such journeys?

Oh! And how he would love to see his husband’s mutation himself. He had heard rumors that Ser Lehnsherr could not only control metals, but also manipulate magnetic fields as well!

Speaking of which, it suddenly hit Charles how handsome Ser Lehnsherr looked; his radiance increasing as the distance between them decreased.

It had been a month since he first saw the portrait of his proposed groom, and finally seeing him in person was doing _things_ to him.

He had also heard that Ser Lehnsherr was one of the most open-minded and rational mutants of the time…and Charles decided to check the facts. Sure, if something went wrong, he would simply wipe off all memories and pretend that nothing happened. At least he was capable of doing that.

The herald finished and the music began again, playing something rich and golden, cue for Charles to start moving again.

Charles slowly took another step, the entire House of Xavier following the young groom.

He gathered his courage, and mentally tiptoed to Ser Lehnsherr’s mind, hoping that Lady Emma would not be lurking nearby.

He was fortunate, for Ser Lehnsherr had, for some unknown reason, not raised his shields, and Charles caught the words ‘ _but I_ _prefer white roses’._

 It took him a moment to register, but then he looked down to the bouquet he was holding; hydrangeas and orchids and stephanotis, all arranged in a bunch of perfect white shades, with the cold precision of Sharon Xavier. And Charles had never bothered with the flowers, leaving them to his mother and his sister, worrying about his books and his lessons, but now he was …regretting! Maybe _he_ should’ve personally chosen the bouquet, then maybe he would’ve chosen roses, _maybe_ , even if the chances were slim, but Ser Lehnsherr liked roses and in a moment of panic and regret, he blurted, ‘ _I am sorry there are no roses!’_

He saw Ser Lehnsherr’s body tensing and mentally, his shield rose up like a giant fortress almost immediately.

Charles cursed his carelessness, and then subtly approached the lord again.

_Ser Lehnsherr?_

Charles saw him frowning and then looking at Lady Emma. Charles immediately obscured himself from her mind, and almost sighed in relief when he saw her shake her head.

He took three more steps before trying again.

_‘I- its um. Me, my lord.’_

Ser Lehnsherr’s eyes slowly travelled from across the room and then he looked at Charles and immediately, Charles supplied, ‘ _yes, here!’_

Ser Lehnsherr’s frown faded to a surprised arch of his brow, and Charles felt the strong rumble of a ‘ _you?’_ inside his mind. He stored away the feeling in his memories, hoping to never forget the sensation of the rough voice caressing the edge of his mind.

_‘Yes. I am so sorry I surprised you, my lord.’_

_‘That was…unexpected,’_ came the reply, gentler this time.

‘ _I know, I know. We are not supposed to talk before the wedding ceremony is over. But this is not talking, right?’_ Charles smiled, but then remembered that Ser Lehnsherr probably couldn’t see through his veil.

‘ _Technically, no. It isn’t.’_ Ser Lehnsherr sounded amused, and then Charles saw the hint of a smile on his face.

_‘Charles Francis Xavier, humbly at your service, Ser.’_ Charles very subtly tilted his head, hoping that the lord would notice the tilt of his head.

He did.

_‘Myself Erik Lehnsherr,’_ and Ser Lehnsherr gave a minute tilt of his own head. The smile on his face expanded more, and his lips curved up on the left, giving a half smile.

Charles whispered the name inaudibly, liking the way it rolled off this tongue.

Charles had already crossed more than half of the hall, steps in queue with the music. He was barely twenty steps away from the altar now. As he neared the man, Charles focused on his features, the details now sharpening, even through the veil. The way his suit clung to the frame of his body, the way the violet satin inside of his midnight cloak brushed along his long legs, his silver eyes and his golden brooch, the strong height which looked so secure, and that hint of a perfect smile to the left of his face. _Absolutely breathtaking!_

_‘Breathtaking? …Was that for me, husband-to-be?’_   came an amused query from Ser Lehnsherr.

‘ _Wha-I.’_ Charles slipped! How could he slip? ‘ _Yes,’_ his mind supplied before he could stop himself. This time, he actually blushed and looked away, glad that he had a veil to cover his idiocy.

Ser Lehnsherr slowly shook his head, too subtle for anyone to catch the movement unless they were looking for it, and then sent another thought to Charles. _‘This, is legitimately unfair, considering how I can’t see your face.’_

Charles paused, just a few feet away from those silver eyes, arriving at his designated location.

‘ _But I believe you’d be breathtaking as well,’_ his lord thought at him, almost an inaudible whisper, stepping forward. Lady Emma followed suit, stepping to his right with a silver platter. A violet-and-midnight fabric lay neatly folded on it. The cloak of the House of Lehnsherr, which was soon going to be Charles’.

_‘I’m honored, my lord,’_ Charles replied, his heart beating faster.

Charles turned to his step-father for the traditional swapping of cloaks. Soon, he’d step out of the blue and yellow Xavier cloak and his groom would cloak him in his own colors, and Charles would officially belong to the House of Lehnsherr. The rest of the ceremonies were nominal, followed by the reception. And then they would retire for the night.

Soon.

Charles found his heart skipping another beat as the thoughts of _wedding night_ and _alone with Ser Lehnsherr_ flooded his mind. His knees felt weak.

Lord Marko undid the Xavier brooch, unfastening the blue cape. He handed the satin fabric to his Lady Sharon. Charles started to turn towards the Lehnsherrs for the re-cloaking, but sudden, unforgiving hands on his shoulders turned him back to face his step-father again.

He found himself jerking forward when Lord Marko gripped his shirt by the collars and ripped his clothes open.

“Charles Francis Xavier. We, hereby disown you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another tradition I made up for this sorta asoiaf au: each house has their own cloak brooch with carved ensigns, besides having different colored cloaks and ensigns. For wedding ceremonies and such, if one house didnt have enough members, close friends and allies would temporarily wear the cloak of the bride/groom's house to serve as representatives, but they always wore their own brooches all the time!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few tensed moments passed with the silent breeze outside the mansion. Azazel passed a questioning glance to Janos, who shrugged his shoulders. The woods crackled in the fireplace, embers dancing.
> 
> “What do you know?” Erik finally asked, retiring.
> 
> “That Ser Lehnsherr is, due to reasons unknown, paying extra attention to the Xavier-Shaw matrimony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little politics rich history of what happened, because hey! Whats an asoiaf AU without politics?  
> This takes place two months before the wedding.

_~About 2 months ago~_

“Ser Lehnsherr,” the oldest son of House of Neyaphim knocked twice on the wooden doors of the main study.

“Azazel,” Erik greeted back, eyes searching the horizon. Two silver coins twirled around his long fingers effortlessly. Even with his back towards his visitor, Erik could feel Azazel’s red tail whipping around impatiently.

“I’ve got some important news,” Azazel reported.

The House of Neyaphim was scarcely powerful enough to survive by itself with the on-going political scenario. Fortunately for Lord Azazel, the mighty House of Lehnsherr decided to become a patron, just like it supported so many other such falling Houses. In return, all Azazel had to do was-

“Its about the Black King.”

-support the Lehnsherrs in their own cause.

Erik did not look up from the sunset. The red in the sky matched Azazel’s skin.

“He chose a spouse,” Azazel said, walking next to the bookshelf. When Erik still didn’t turn, Azazel continued. “The son of the House of Xavier.”

“Son?” Erik asked, coins dancing restlessly in his palms. “That bastard, Marko?”

“No, not Lord Marko’s son. The only son of late Ser Brian and Lady Sharon.”

Erik turned, his face shadowed by the sunlight directly behind him.

“The young Lord Charles Xavier.”

__

“Lord Marko offered all his children to the Black King. I don’t understand how Lady Xavier allowed this, knowing that the House of Shaw is one of the strongest enemies of the North,” Lord Azazel sipped his wine, contemplating.

“Maybe that’s why. Lord Marko is no emotional fool like the late Lord Xavier. He doesn’t care about the morality of the Shaws. He simply wants power,” Lady Emma of the House of Frost suggested, idly playing with the flame. The diamond fingers reflected off the light in different directions. “And power he will get, if any one of the Xaviers marry the Black King.”

“And Shaw has his own gains as well,” Lord Janos of the House of Quested reminded.

The Lords and Ladies under the House of Lehnsherr were all that Erik could call his family. Publicly, he addressed them with respect, yes. But here, in his own parlor, he didn’t mind the meaningless addresses. Neither did they. No formalities within the house, the unspoken rule of the Lehnsherr household. A history of troubles had united the Lords and the Ladies, more than what money or power ever could.

 “I know the politics. Once Shaw has the Xaviers by his side, he is bound to get the support of all the patrons of the East. The House of Shaw will no doubt, become the strongest in the South,” Azazel said ruefully.

“Do you think he will think of attacking the North?” Janos asked.

“If he gets all support from the East, yes,” Emma said. “He is very ambitious. You know it.”

And in addition, the Shaws and the Lehnsherrs were, what could best be called, adversaries.

“And the Xaviers, will _they_ attack the North?” Janos asked, unsure.

“At least not willingly,” Emma said, sipping her drink.

“Look,” Erik said, turning away from the portrait of the young son of the House of Xavier Azazel had ‘found’ somewhere in the market. Turning away from the winter blue eyes and the dragon red lips, it was the first time he had spoken ever since he saw the painting. “We all know about the political gains. But Azazel said that all three children of the House of Xavier were offered for marriage. Why not choose the young Lady, Raven? She’d probably give him the heir to his legacy… And if Shaw did have to choose a groom, why not Marko’s own son? …Emma?”

Emma’s entire body went still as she concentrated, her eyes fixing on the glass figurine to Erik’s left. From behind him, the young Xavier smiled from his painting, his cheeks rosy with a hint of ginger freckles captured with artistic perfection.

Minutes ticked by, and when Emma finally came out of her trance-like state, Janos was helping them all to a second serving.

“Mind-reader,” she said, breaking the silence. All eyes turned to her as she continued. “Not only is the young Xavier brilliant, in academia as well as in up-bringing, he is a sharp strategist _and_ a well famous socialite. As if that were not enough,” Emma said, looking at Erik. “He’s a telepath.”

“A mutant?” Erik’s eyes lit up.

“Well, the other two as well. That young Raven is a shape-shifter and Marko is um, a big, virtually unstoppable …boulder?” Emma said, a frown breaking the perfect features of her face. When Erik raised an eyebrow, she said, flustered, “What! That’s what the common people describe him like!”

Erik tilted his head, amused.

“And,” Emma said, trying to change the topic. “Once you _look_ at the true heir to the Xavier legacy, the other two will fade away in the background. Trust me on this.”

Maybe the winds blew off a few candles, nobody would tell, but the shadows on Erik’s face somehow darkened, his sharp features becoming intimidating in the dusk.

“I want this wedding to stop. Emma, Azazel, Janos. Do whatever you have to, just don’t let Shaw marry the Xavier.”

__

Later that night, when the moon hid herself behind the clouds, Emma made her way into the Lehnsherr household library. It was almost midnight, but Janos and Azazel were still sitting by the maps, trying to formulate a plan.

“You need to explain that,” she said, taking place on one of the plush, high back chairs beside the fireplace.

 _‘What?’_ Erik asked, his mental voice as distracted as himself. He was scanning through some documents, sitting on a matching chair.

“The wedding,” Emma replied, using her voice to lay emphasis.

 _‘What? I don’t want Shaw to get even more powerful. You know how strong the Xaviers are.’_ Erik though back lazily. Almost too lazily.

 _‘Erik, you know I’m a telepath as well,’_ Emma glared, hoping that Erik would understand what she was implying. He did.

“And I’ve told you to stay away from my thoughts!” Erik snapped.

Azazel and Janos looked up from the table.

“Not when you’re screaming in your mind. Do you even know how loud you were?” Emma retorted icily.

A few tensed moments passed with the silent breeze outside the mansion. Azazel passed a questioning glance to Janos, who shrugged his shoulders. The woods crackled in the fireplace, embers dancing.

“What do you know?” Erik finally asked, retiring.

“That Ser Lehnsherr is, due to reasons unknown, paying extra attention to the Xavier-Shaw matrimony.”

“I told you. The politics will get out of hand!”

“…And?” Emma asked, paying attention to the way Erik was _not_ facing her.

“ _And_? Nothing!”

Except that a flash of images, ocean eyes and fiery lips, freckled skin and a pearly smile, flashed before her eyes, the details so sharp that it took her a second to register that it wasn’t her mind that supplied them. Erik did.

_Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> afrocurl is one fast beta. Really.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He descended from the stairs like quail and manna from the heavens, the woman in his arms like an accompanying angel, and even though Erik was no poet, he wanted to pick up a feathered quill and compose an unending piece about oceans and skies and irises and orchids and jays and buntings, because they all were blue, just like the eyes of the young man on the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More on what happened before.  
> Introducing more made up traditions and a grand, cheesy ball.  
> (Takes place a few days after Erik finds out about Shaw's plans.)

~Two days later~

“But why can’t I go?” Azazel gave a _very_ manly pout.

“Because, firstly,” Emma said, surfing through the different masks her maid had presented. “That pout was not manly. And secondly, you are _red_.”

“So?” Azazel asked frowning.

“What Lady Emma means to say,” Janos interrupted, “is that this is a masquerade ball. And Ser Lehnsherr wants to maintain anonymity. And well, you look. I mean-”

“Not many people look like the devil incarnated,” Emma finished, picking up a silver mask with white peacock feathers.

“So then they will recognize us!” Janos added hurriedly before things heated up further.

“This is not fair!” Azazel restrained himself from giving another manly pout.

“It’s just this one time!” Janos said, deliberately ignoring Azazel when the maid presented him with his own mask.

“Whatever,” the tailed Lord murmured before disappearing into a smokeless cloud.

__

“Good morrow, Ser Lenhsherr. Lady Frost. Lord Janos,” a dark skinned woman greeted the trio on the threshold of the hallway of Xavier mansion. “I am Angel Salvadore, the head housekeeper of the Xavier mansion. Would you all be so kind as to let me assist you to the cloak room?” she asked with a fair smile.

“Of course,” Erik replied, eyes scanning the vast hallway.

The head housekeeper led them to the cloakroom, her dark floor-length skirts swishing with each step. Soft music floated off from the great ballroom.

Merely two days after they found out about the marriage truce, the Lehnsherrs received an invitation from the House of Xavier. Charles Xavier’s seventeenth summer celebrations, and Lady Sharon had decided to celebrate with all the grandeur.

Of course the real motive was something else. What would be a better occasion to show off your children to a prospective groom than a full-fledged ball?

Erik had immediately announced that they (sans Azazel) were attending. It was as if the gods were ministering him towards his destiny.

Emma had, thankfully, not said anything about Erik’s sudden interest again. Yet…

Angel helped them off with their house cloaks. Masquerade balls maintained high level of anonymity; along with masks on their faces, they guests usually took off their cloaks to fully devote themselves to the ambiguity.

Then the head housekeeper and her maids helped them into the cloaks designed especially for such occasions. A hybrid of a long scarf and a cape, and a neck-wrap somewhere in between, it was secured just above the heart, and the tail end reached mid-way to the right bicep. The openwork design was patterned in such a way that one pointed end always covered the House brooch, and then it was tucked in between the folds, securely; thus the guests could keep their House sigil on as well as maintain anonymity.

Emma was helped into a white cloak, the one for women, while the men were given a silken black fabric. Then the maids helped them with their masks.

“Lady Emma, do you know what I’m thinking?” Erik asked.

“Of course I do. Why do you-” Emma paused, squinting. “No, I don’t. Ser Erik?” Erik’s mind appeared to be blocking her telepathy. Not the usual mental shields, but stronger, as if something external.

Erik gave him one ferocious grin, pointing at his mask. “Received it as a …er, gift, from my nomadic friends once. Keeps out mind-readers.” He winked.

Emma had thought Erik had chosen the minimalistic design simply because he preferred simplicity. And the metallic hue of course.

“Shall we?” he held out his hand, and instantly Emma wanted to wipe off his narcissistic smirk with her nails maybe.

“I shall be obliged,” she replied instead.

__

It had crossed almost two candle marks and the Xaviers were nowhere to be seen. Well, Erik did make out the groomed figure of Lady Sharon Xavier conversing with her painted friends and the intimidating frame of Lord Kurt Marko barking at his associates. Erik even heard, and ignored, the loud laughs of Lord Sebastian Shaw and his party, sipping wine in a corner. They were _not_ the Xavier he was looking for.

The fragrance hit him before the presence; an inexplicable aroma of warm brews and curtained beds and candle lit gardens, and it took him a second to realize that it was not his stomach rumbling, but something _else,_ because it was the smell of an _untouched omega_ and all of Erik’s senses searched wildly for the source of such avarice-inducing scent, his conversation with the brothers of the House of Summers forgotten.

The orchestra at the back of the ballroom softly faded away, and string quartet began humming a divine composition.

All eyes turned to the two pairs descending down the gilded stairways. Erik followed. The first one was comprised of a heavily built young man, his hair perfectly matching the shades of Kurt Marko’s head. Erik could recognize the egotistic smirk of the father on the son’s face, even though the twin mountain’s ensign of the House of Marko was obscured behind the dark fabrics.

“Cain Marko?” Erik asked Emma, who had replaced the Summers brothers when he was not paying attention.

She nodded. “See, looks like a boulder, does he not?”

It was still bothering Erik that when Kurt Marko had his own son, why did he decide to marry Xavier to Shaw?

“Who’s the girl with him?”

Emma took a second to search the answers with her mind. “Daughter of one of Lady Sharon’s friends.”

The pair descended the stairs with an air of vanity and then mingled with the crowd.

The string quartet was on their second bridge when Erik saw _him_ for the first time.

He descended from the stairs like quail and manna from the heavens, the woman in his arms like an accompanying angel, and even though Erik was no poet, he wanted to pick up a feathered quill and compose an unending piece about oceans and skies and irises and orchids and jays and buntings, because they all were blue, just like the eyes of the young man on the stairs.

Even though a silvery mask hid his face and the black cape hid his insignia, Erik had no doubt his eyes had found the one he was looking for.

“Charles Xavier,” Emma whispered, as if she had sensed his trance and didn’t want to break it.

The young Xavier Lord was dressed in a midnight blue velvet tail-coat with golden embroidery, the milky white of his cravat matching his long shirt sleeves that peeked out from underneath the coat sleeves. His trousers and tasseled Hassiens boots complimented the woody brown of his tousled hair.

“And that’s the young Lady Raven,” Emma’s voice pulled him out of his daze.

The woman in her arms wore a baby blue dress, with flowers in her hair and so many ruffles in her dress that it would put a cloud to shame. She laughed subtly at something Charles said and whispered back a few words, and that diverted Erik’s attention back to Charles again.

“Do you…can you?” Erik asked, unable to put his thoughts to words.

“Sense those pheromones?” Emma asked calmly. Lady Emma of the House of Frost was an alpha, much like Erik himself. “Yes.” But she sounded unaffected.

Erik started wondering whether he was the only one feeling the tingling sensations, as if the simulations reached him through a looking glass, amplified and focused on him. He had been around many omegas, _hell_ , he met Janos almost daily, but their scents had never bothered him.

And then the young Xavier Lord laughed, brighter than the lighted crystals in the chandeliers.

Before Erik could stop himself, a low rumble reverberated through his chest, muffled by the string quartet now joined by many other instruments on cue.

From across the ballroom, Charles looked up to Erik, their eyes meeting for the first time.

__

Of course! Emma’s telepathy couldn’t sense the ethology; she couldn’t differentiate between betas and omegas. Cain Marko was a beta, much like Raven Darkholme, the adopted daughter of Brain Xavier. The only omega of the three children was Charles Xavier.

Sebastian Shaw, being a conceited alpha, had undoubtedly chosen Charles because of this reason among others; if it were not the only reason, it was definitely one of the strongest.

“Here,” Emma handed Erik a gilded chalice, the red liquid swishing around the edges. He expressed his gratitude with a nod.

His eyes searched and found the head with brown locks shimmering like gold in the candlelight.

Charles had his back towards Erik, chattering away with two ladies in gorgeous violet and green dresses, with feathers in their hair and fans in their gloved hands.

As if Erik had physically called out to him, Charles half turned and looked at Erik again. Then one of the women said something and he turned away.

This was getting out of hand now.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Shaw crossing the hall towards Charles.

“Emma-” he began, but Emma stopped him with a “I got it, you go,” and he saw the Black King stop, tilt his head, and then turn back towards the direction he came from.

If he could, he would express his undying love to the telepathic powers of his new favorite Lady in the world, but he found himself hurrying across the ballroom. Erik crossed the throngs of painted lords and ladies as subtly as he could, with those pheromones maddening him with each passing second.

__

By the time Erik reached the young Xavier, the musicians had finished the last song of the previous set, and began a new set afresh, with a delicate intro on the keys.

When the women saw him, they paused and looked up to him with sparkling eyes, expecting Erik to converse with them. Charles paused, and turned back, facing Erik. He acknowledged Erik’s presence with a soft ‘oh’.

“Good morrow,” Charles greeted with a smile and a curtsy. The women followed.

Erik greeted with a nod, but didn’t say anything. He saw Charles frown, for a second, and then his forehead cleared again. As if Charles had tried to get through the masquerade barrier to find out who Erik was, failed, and decided to ignore the identity.

Erik gracefully held out a hand, bowing slightly, inviting Charles for a dance.

“D-dance?” Charles asked, his eyes widening.

Erik nodded, and felt his lips curving up on the left involuntarily.

“Of course,” Charles gave a fully-fledged smile, and then bowed, taking Erik’s hand into his.

They made way to the dance floor.

__

All dancers stood in two neat rows, facing each other.

As the music began, they took one step each towards each other, coming face to face with their partners.

Erik raised his right palm, opening his fist in front of his chest. Charles flattened his own palm to his, aligning the fingers. Keeping this point of contact as the pivot, they turned in a full circle. The whole room spinning, only two sapphire eyes static to two emerald eyes. They paused with the music, aligning their bodies to the closed position, Erik’s right hand on Charles’ waist, Charles’ left on Erik’s shoulders, the other set of hands clasped together. They maintained a distance between their bodies. But Erik could feel the gilded pocket watch in Charles’ pocket and his silver buttons and cuff links nonetheless.

They stepped front and back alternately with the rhythm, moving in a circle. Erik spun Charles in a circle, and then switched partners, a red haired woman in a sinful violet dress. His eyes never left Charles.

Another turn, and the partners paused in two rows again. Erik found Charles through the corner of his eyes on his right, grinning.

Taking his partner’s right hand in his, the dancers switched positions. Charles brushed past Erik, dancing with a brunette. He sent a small smile towards Erik, and then turned his eyes towards his partner.

Erik didn’t even realize he was smiling himself.

They moved in opposite directions, Erik’s eyes still following Charles’ graceful steps, as the Xavier heir worshipped his partner with his movements. Obviously, Erik did not feel a pang of something he refused to acknowledge as jealousy. _Obviously_. When he looked back to the face of his own partner, he found himself with Lady Raven, her skin shimmering in her sleeveless gown. She had a delicate smile, and she looked absolutely stunning, but something about her was not as _enchanting_ as her brother, even through the blue in her dress reminded him of a certain pair of stormy ocean eyes.

When they switched partners again, Erik found Emma’s white-laced fingers in his hands.

“Surprise!” Emma whispered with a superior smile.

“What?” Erik asked.

“Nothing,” Emma replied, but her smile suggested something else. “I didn’t know you danced?”

“Yes, well, now you do,” Erik replied nonchalantly. “Why are you on the dance floor?”

“Why, cant a Lady dance when she wants to?” Emma asked, and Erik could feel her amused arch of brows, even through her mask.

Twirling with Emma’s spotless snowy skirts, Erik searched for Charles again, who had somehow materialized on his right, dancing with _Janos_ of all people!

As they finished one complete revolution around the grand, shimmering chandelier, the dancers stepped back from each other. Then, instead of forming pairs, they formed quadruples. Erik found himself positioned with Emma on his right, Janos on his left, and Charles opposite to him.

The music developed a swing, and the partners on the opposite sides moved forward. Time slowed down, the gemstones in the gowns of the women reflecting lights in all directions, drinks in men’s hands shimmering translucent in the golden light. The dark shadows of the men’s boots complementing the highlights of the women’s high-heeled shoes. The gentle breezes created by the twirling skirts, and the periodic rhythm of the heavy footfalls.

Erik found himself breaths apart from Charles, and even though he wasn’t touching him physically, Erik was positive that Charles’ fragrance had completely seduced him. Erik had a height advantage, and Charles looked up to him. This close, Erik could make out the diaphanous eyelashes through the mask, the rosy blush across the freckled cheeks, and detailed creases on those impossibly red lips. As if Charles was a piece of fine art, laid out for Erik to examine and criticize and appreciate. Erik desperately wanted to peel of the mask and have a clear look at the face, and memorize the curve of the nose and the arch of the eyebrows.

And then they moved back, his hands still holding Emma and Janos, who moved forward, but instead of looking at each other (as desperately and hopelessly as Erik had looked at Charles), they tilted their heads and looked at Erik.

The four of them repeated the step again, and this time when Erik came merely breathing distance apart from Charles, he found Emma and Janos tugging hard. That resulted him into landing even _closer_ to Charles, his sense getting intoxicated with the proximity.

Charles, still looking up, laughed, his breath warm on Erik’s lips, and Erik wanted nothing more but to jerk his hands free and kiss those sinful lips, right there.

Dance was a cruel providence, because a dancer had to obey the laws of dancing, and move with the rhythm, whether they wanted to or not.

They moved apart again, Janos and Emma meeting again, obscuring his view of the blue-eyed wonder.

One final change in the instrumental chorus, and Erik found himself flushed with Charles in his arms, Janos and Emma fading away into oblivion. They had no distance between them this time, warmth travelling like fluttering butterflies between them, arms holding each other, palms close.

They moved gently, slowly, as if savoring the last few verses. Charles breathed on his neck, a little to the right, looking up to Erik with his lips parted open, eyes wide and dark –though the mask might just shadow that color, Erik reasoned.

Charles’ hair smelled of sunshine in the woods and his hands were strong but snug in Erik’s own large fingers. Foolishly enough, Erik found his heart hammering in the chest, out of sync with the music.

Music, which summoned their souls out of their bodies and spun them around in an ecstatic dive and then slowly faded away, leaving behind two pair of iridescent eyes staring into Erik’s very soul. Charles moved apart with a soft sound that was something between a moan and a whimper.

The music bled into silence; the various conversations now louder, with the clinking of glasses and sounds of footsteps and occasional laughter. They paused, catching their breaths.

Charles bowed to bid farewell, along with a ‘thank you for the dance’.

__

After returning to the Lehnsherr Household, Erik had announced, again, that they needed to stop the wedding.

Then _again_ , after two more days.

“What?” he asked, looking up from his papers, when Emma gave him _that_ look again.

Azazel, who had learned the details of the ball in excited but hushed whispers from Janos, had ventured beside Emma, tail moving with curiosity. Janos stood near the book shelf, pretending to search for an atlas.

Emma let a few seconds pass, before gently saying, “You danced with him.” Maybe it was time she took the matters in her own hand, because she could see that Erik was not going to acknowledge his feelings.

Even though Erik refused to look up from his documents, Emma picked the spike of interest from his brain.

“So?” Erik asked nonchalantly.

“You don’t dance. Not with anyone. Never.”

One pointed look, and Emma didn’t even have to use her telepathy to let Azazel know what she was thinking. Okay, she had too, just a tiny nudge, because sometimes men could be so … _indifferent_ to whatever was happening around them.

“Well, Erik, you are coming of age as well. You’re six and twenty now,” Azazel muttered.

“Is that a bad thing?” Erik asked, frowning.

“No, what they are saying is, maybe it is time for you to consider,” Janos replied from the table, catching the flow, along with a mental lecture from Emma of course.

“Consider _what?_ ” Erik’s voice was a few octaves higher than usual.

“Why, your _own_ marriage,” Azazel said with a crescent moon smile. “With the Xavier heir.”

“ _What! Why?_ ” Erik asked, standing.

“Because,” Emma said coolly, unaffected by the heat in the room, “you _like_ him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raven's dress [inspiration](http://www.labeautes.com/New-Arrival-Quinceanera-Dresses-Sweetheart-Floor-Length-Ball-Gown-Jacket-With-Rhinestone?fr=sns_tumblr_s0930) (the blue gown).  
> The dance steps inspired from ["Salaam Aaya"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T5t5adK4Qxo) from Veer (2010). Check out the videos to get a clear idea about the steps!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fates have a cruel sense of humor; Erik’s mother had always warned him. Just when you believe that the night canvas can’t get any more perfect, someone waves a murky paintbrush over your dreams, blurring your colors and brightness.

_~Wedding Hall, Present Time~_

_‘I am not nervous!’_ Erik maintained a straight face, screaming at Emma in his mind. He had let his mental shields down; the only mind-reader in the room was Emma.

 _‘Ah-huh,’_ Emma mocked with a matching face. _‘Azazel wants to say something.’_

 _‘Yes?_ ’ Erik asked, scanning the rows of guests. The Summers brothers sat on the second row on the left, nodding at him when their eyes met. The Lady from the House of Storm sat beside Lady MacTaggert, whispering to each other. Other respectable Houses sat towards the front, admiring the preparations. Sebastian Shaw and his thugs sat on the far edge on the right, an indecipherable expression on his face. Why did he even bother to come?

 _‘Don’t panic Ser!’_ Azazel’s mind spoke to him, connected together by Emma’s mind.

 _‘For the last time! I am not panicking!’_ Erik thought back with his head held high. He tried to control his emotions, but couldn’t stop the twitching of his right eyebrow.

 _‘Ya! Even from behind you, we can see you dreading,’_ came Janos’ accented thoughts.

Erik decided to frown at the herald instead of replying.

He knew he was good with words- he had commanded his respectable army of the House of Lehnsherr numerous times, he gave speeches to throngs of people at so many occasions- but for once in his lifetime, he was overwhelmed with emotions so greatly that he found himself speechless.

Erik was not in _love_ with the Xavier Lord like a schoolboy, as Emma had declared, but he realized that he _wanted_ him. And usually, he wouldn’t stop wanting, whatever it was, unless he either got his wishes fulfilled or went insane _and_ made others insane as well. Unfortunately, in this case, fulfilling his desires was next to impossible.

But not entirely impossible. And Emma, Janos and Azazel had proven that, word to word. How one telepath, one teleporter, and one storm caster had changed one of the most corrupt minds of the time, still remained mostly a mystery to Erik. (Although he knew that it involved the Lady Frost controlling, and bending the conversation between Kurt Marko and Sebastian Shaw, turning it into a heated argument; Lord Neyaphim spooking Shaw’s relatives in their sleep, making them believe that Charles Xavier was hideous and scarred, as if Azazel was the devil speaking about his child to them in their dreams; and Lord Quested conjuring miniature storms each time the topic of marriage was raised, making Shaw’s household staff and army believe that Lord Xavier was inauspicious for them.)

And here Erik was, two months after he had first heard of the youngest Lord of the House of Xavier of the East, in his best clothes, strictly selected by Emma of course, waiting at the end of the aisle, waiting for his husband-to-be. He had the right to have jitters!

But the feeling of gratitude was not overshadowed. Long since his parents had passed away, Erik had never received such selfless help from anyone. What he must’ve failed to realize with passing time was that along with an agreement of mutual help with the Houses of Frost, Neyaphim and Quested, he was also creating an inexplicable bond with them. Deep and impenetrable.

And here he stood, facing the impossible, which his _family_ had made possible for him. And he had no words to express how deeply indebted he felt.

 _‘Heads up, Ser, you shouldn’t be the one crying,’_ Emma whispered in a casual-mock tone, although her words were laced with something close to compassion. Apparently, Erik’s feelings must’ve have transferred through the connection.

 _‘Yes. I mean I’ve heard of brides getting emotional and crying, but a Lord!? I don’t understand why are you panicking so much!’_ Azazel said in a tone that implied that he’d be shaking his head in a pathetic impression if he were not standing right beside Erik.

 _‘And I’d have you killed, right now, if all eyes were not on me,’_ Erik said, glaring at him through the corner of his eyes.

‘ _But he is right!’_ Janos said innocently.

 _‘Get out! Out of my head! At this very instant!’_ Erik bellowed without any heat.

Again, the familiar, seductive fragrance kissed his senses before his eyes justified the presence. Soft music announced the arrival of the groom’s family, and Erik stood straighter, his heart beating faster.

Two measured steps, and there _he_ was, standing at the flower donned archway in his traditional white robes as thin as mist, the young Lord Charles Xavier, soon to be the newest member of Erik’s family.

The giant metal candelabras on either side of the aisle vibrated, and along with them, the scores of lighted candles.

 _‘Erik!’_ Emma warned.

 _‘Oh, sorry!’_ Erik replied sheepishly, controlling his powers, _‘Whoops. That doesn’t usually happen.’_

 _‘Nevermind,’_ Emma said soothingly.

The Xavier family appeared beside Charles, and the herald announced their arrival, one by one. Erik noted the platinum ‘X’ of the brooch of the House of Xavier on Lady Sharon and Charles’ cloaks. Lord Kurt Marko and his son, Cain, wore the Twin Mountains of the House of Marko. The young Lady Raven had a blue bird on her chest.

They all wore the gold and blue cloak of the House of Xavier, shimmering like liquid sunshine in the candle light.

The music began again, and Charles took _torturously_ slow steps, in sync with the rhythm. The influence of his fragrance increased through his thin robes, as he walked closer to Erik’s waiting arms.

 _Uh._ Erik wanted to rush down the aisle and drag Charles to the podium himself. And hold him again, just like the night of the dance. And never let go.

Did Charles recognize him from the dance? Did he know, back then, as well as now, that it was Erik Lehnsherr from the North, who danced with him, as if they were made for dancing together, like the sun and the moon?

 _‘No, he doesn’t,’_ Emma replied, searching for the answers.

 _‘You’re reading his mind?’_ Erik asked, feeling something like…anger, as if he was betraying Charles.

 _‘I just wanted to see if he is as nervous as you are,’_ Emma replied coolly. _‘Good news Ser. You’re not the only one with shaky knees. I wonder how is he managing to walk so perfectly, if he is as edgy as he is projecting. Oh! And he is thinking about you. Oh. Those thoughts about…you know.’_

Erik wanted to say that he didn’t have shaky knees, but instead he said _‘Get out of his mind, Emma.’_

 _‘Ooh. Possessive already, are we, Ser Lehnsherr?’_ Emma mocked. Even though she was standing right next to Erik and he couldn’t see her face without turning his head, he could imagine her sly smile. _‘I just wanted to know who designed that lovely bouquet. I love white flowers.’_

Erik’s eyes landed on the delicate bouquet Charles was carrying in his arms. He didn’t have an affinity to flowers, but he did agree with Emma this one time. He liked white flowers as well, but not these expensive, unheard flowers. Even though Erik found himself getting irrationally envious of those white petals, because they were being gently caressed by Charles’ fingers, while Erik was waiting on this far end, waiting, and waiting.

 _‘But I prefer white roses,’_ he said, looking at the flowers again. He expected Emma to reply back sarcastically again, but instead, he heard a tensed, nervous squeal. _Inside_ his mind.

_‘I am sorry there are no roses!’_

Erik immediately shielded his mind from the intruder. Who had dared intervene his mind? He heard a soft whisper calling out to his mind and he raised his shields higher.

_‘Emma?’_

‘ _What? No. That wasn’t me. I am simply trying to distract you from de-shaping the candelabras.’_

‘ _Who is it then?’_

 _‘I don’t know. Can’t find him.’_ Emma said, but her casual tone suggested that she wasn’t even trying. What?

 _‘I- its um. Me, my lord.’_ Came a familiar voice, knocking at his mental doors.

Wait a second, there was only one other telepath in the hall. Erik looked at Charles, trying to see through his veil, when an eager voice said _‘yes, here!’_ and confirmed his suspicion.

 _‘You?’_ Erik asked, surprised. Well, he had heard that the young Xavier Lord was bold, but was he bold enough to break traditions? Of course Erik didn’t care much about such meaningless traditions, but to grow up under the care of the orthodox Lady Sharon Xavier must inculcate some deep respect for traditions and rituals.

 _‘Yes. I am so sorry I surprised you, my lord,’_ mumbled a honey-laced voice in his mind, feather light and sunshine warm. That voice, along with the fragrance, aroused Erik more than the posh wine being served in silver chalices in the courtyard, as he stood strained by the altar.

 _‘That was…unexpected,’_ Erik confessed, lowering his shields to welcome his husband-to-be.

Charles introduced himself and gave his baseless excuse of breaking the tradition, which was technically alright. The elders had said _no-talking-before-wedding-vows_ , not _no-mental-flirting-in-the-wedding-hall-seconds-before-the-vows._

Charles’ flustered voice was adorable, and Erik seriously considered ripping off the veil to see the priceless look on Charles’ face, when he slipped the words ‘ _breath-taking’_ accidentally. It was unfair how he _still_ hadn’t seen Charles’ face; first that stupid mask, and now this pointless veil.

Charles stopped two steps in front of him, his face obscured by a delicately spun cob-web of satin laces. Even though his caramel freckles were concealed behind the veil, his bright blue eyes shone through the cloth, piercing Erik’s _heart_ , just like the night at the dance.

Charles’ eyes left his, and the young man turned to his step-father for the ceremonial de-cloaking.

 _Fates have a cruel sense of humor;_ Erik’s mother had always warned him. Just when you believe that the night canvas can’t get any more _perfect,_ someone waves a murky paintbrush over your dreams, blurring your colors and brightness.

Kurt Marko took off the midnight-golden cloak of the House of Xavier, and handed it to his wife. As Charles started to finally, _finally_ , turn towards Erik, Lord Marko grabbed him by his shoulders and jerked him to his left. He grabbed a fistful of the collar of the thin robe, and ripped open the fabric.

Dropping the platinum Xavier brooch on the floor, he harshly broke the stunned silence with words even harsher. “Charles Francis Xavier,” he said slowly, as if the name itself was a disgrace. “We hereby disown you.”

Moments of silence went by, the candles burning anxiously, their flames unmoving, as if shocked by the declaration. The flowers crashed inaudibly to the floor, white petals raining like a mourning song. The silence was deafening, as if no one dared to breathe, afraid of damaging the situation further with any movement of their lungs. Musicians stood affixed, their instruments waiting midair, as if seduced by the Gorgon Medusa and thus turned into sculptures of stone. The guests paused in their seats, as still as a priceless oil painting.

_“What?”_

It was the feminine voice of Lady Sharon Xavier, Erik slowly registered.

“Lord Marko, what are you doing!” she asked her husband, clutching Charles’ cloak tightly. “Have you- have you lost your mind?” she gripped Lord Marko by his arm, shaking him.

“It’s been decided,” Lord Marko announced firmly. “He is a disgrace to the Xaviers. I, Kurt Marko, the head of the House of Xavier, thereby relinquish the youngest son, Charles Xavier, after living seventeen years under the name of Xavier. I only have two children from the moment; Cain Marko, and Raven Darkholme, that shall be taken care of and nourished with all that belongs to the House. We hereby have no relation whatsoever, with the young man with whom I refer to.”

“My Lord!” the Lady sounded frantic now, losing all composure. “What _are_ you saying?”

“I have declared what is and what should be,” Lord Marko’s words sounded resolute.

“Lord-Father!” the young Raven rushed to the man, holding him by his jacket. “What has he done? What is his crime, that you should punish him so ruthlessly?”

Instead of replying, Lord Marko slapped his step-daughter so hard that she came down crashing on her knees with a sob. “Do not forget your manners; you are a daughter of the House of Xavier.”

He motioned to his son, who held up the young lady, squirming in his arms.

“The House of Xavier thereby takes its leave, all decisions declared as final as the ever-presence of the Sun,” Lord Marko declared, addressing the guests. He then turned and gave Erik a look.

“My Lord! You _can’t_ do this!” Lady Sharon said, but her words went unacknowledged.

Grabbing her, Lord Marko turned towards the doors. The guests stood up, unable to sit through the anticipation any more. Dragging away a hysterical Lady Sharon and a sobbing Lady Raven, the House of Xavier left the wedding hall, leaving behind their son, disowned, alone.

Charles hadn’t said a single word all this time, had not objected, had not questioned. This didn’t sound like the Charles Xavier Erik had heard about, had met at the ball, had danced with. He stood still, motionless, without any clothes but the veil his step-father had not bothered to remove, white flowers, not-roses, crushed beside his feet.

As Erik’s initial surprise faded away, he registered the absence of Charles’ warmth from his mind. Or rather, it was the presence that bothered him; a cold, hazy feeling, oblivious to whatever could happen. A dizziness he couldn’t identify as his own.

 _‘Erik! He’s in shock!’_ Emma snapped, pulling Erik out of the Charles’ projected confusion. Oh.

A few more seconds passed, and Erik’s senses involuntarily turned all attention to the heady scent- the unmistakable fragrance of an omega nearing his heat. His ears picked up a low growl from the guests; an _alpha_. And then another.

 _‘Erik,’_ Emma said urgently, her voice restrained. ‘ _It’s so strong, that scent. You have to hurry.’_

Right, Emma was an alpha herself, and standing next to Erik, she was the closest alpha in vicinity, other than Erik himself. Another low rumble of an alpha growl echoed under the creamy murals of the wedding hall.

White hot rage electrified his veins, and a howl of possessiveness sang in his pulse. Erik’s vision turned red as he closed his fists in pure fury.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It couldn’t be that bad, right? Charles was the same as before the –the disownment. Everything a respected nobleman could ever want. Charles knew everything. He was perfect! Ser Lehnsherr had agreed for the marriage before; he wouldn’t refuse now!  
> Would he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roz is a lifesaver. Cant ever thank her enough. =)

_~Outside~_

“Let go of me! You big old …piece of…” Raven struggled, trying to squirm out of the iron grip of her older step-brother, but Cain didn’t let go of her till they reached their carriage. She refrained from using any curse words, even though she wanted to, because her mother, screaming and crying, was in vicinity and she knew Lady Sharon wouldn’t approve of her cursing in public. When she refused to get in, Cain pushed her into the silver vehicle, and then followed. The chauffeur closed the door, as unemotional as her brother, unwilling to listen to her pleas.

“Please! Let me go! _Charles!_ ” she pounded her fists on the glass. “I have to go get him!”

She saw her parents get into another carriage, her mother sobbing, and shrieking. An unmistakable sound of a slap resonated through the cold night, and the screaming reduced to sobs, still audible with the distance.

The cracking of whips pierced the air, and the horses broke into a sprint.

“No! Don’t leave him here!” Raven cried, but with no use. She tried calling out to his father, the chauffeur, anyone. Just anyone willing to help her brother. “ _Please._ Charles! Someone help him.” She pounded on the glass again, trying to open the locked door.

“Just shut it!” Cain’s entrenched voice boomed in the small carriage. He grabbed her and pushed her down to her seat, pinning her hands. Squirming, Raven tried to use her legs to kick free, but it was no match against Cain’s strength. He used all his body weight to pin her down to the cushioned seat.

Whether her intentions were defensive or offensive, she wasn’t sure herself. But she started morphing into Cain’s form, hoping to take advantage of his own strength against him.

Cain, apparently not as dumb as Raven took him to be, slapped her hard, pain stopping her mutation temporarily. Strong fingers encircled her throat, lightly choking to keep her from using her powers.

“Don’t even try!” His voice pierced her ears. “Do you even realize what father would do if he found out what you’re doing?”

“I don’t care!  Let me go get Charles!” Raven shrieked. “You can’t leave him there!”

“It’s of no use,” he whispered, foul breath choking her senses more than the grip on her throat. “So you better shut your pretty mouth and sit still.”

“But Charles-!” She began.

“-is as good as dead,” Cain finished. That stopped Raven from struggling.

“What do you mean?” she asked, suddenly feeling very cold.

Cain let go of her, taking his seat opposite to her. In the moonlight, Raven could see a triumphant smile on his face.

“Why, s _ister dearest_ ,” he said, copying Charles’ accent. _Sister dearest;_ that’s what Charles called her, not Cain! This enraged her, but she sat still, listening to her step-brother.“Haven’t you heard what happens to the Lords and Ladies who are disowned?”

Raven shook her head, slowly. She felt as if her tears had paused midway on her cheeks, her voice fading away in her throat.

She wasn’t the one who kept tabs on such…rather unpleasant events. She did remember Charles reading about one such issue and telling her about it. A certain Lord Logan of the House of Wolverine. But Charles had mentioned that it wasn’t a public disownment, and the Lord had himself announced his fate, taking a voluntary exile. Raven hadn’t bothered about it much; why should a Lady care for an exiled Lord when she had sewing classes to attend to? Truly, she didn’t want to attend the classes, but that would only upset her mother.

Now, she wished she had paid attention and found out what happened to Ser Logan.

“They get killed,” Cain’s merciless voice brought her back to the present.

“What!”

“Yes. Haven’t you heard?” Cain’s tone was almost mocking. “Dishonor and humiliation, at first. And then-”

“Then what?”

“Nobody cares for such _outcasts_. What’s more, they are actually considered ill-fated, almost unholy. Nobody shows them mercy. No one. Usually, death is the easiest way out.”

“No! Please, _no!_ ”

“Think about it, Raven.” She hated her name on his tongue. “They have no place to go. Nothing to eat. No jobs, no way to earn anything, to save their lives. People don’t even want to look at them. Oh. Wait. There’s one thing though…”

“What?”  Hope glittered in her eyes. There’s still hope for Charles, right?

“These outcasts. They are perfect for one job.”

They way he said _‘perfect’_ sent shivers down her body. She swallowed, worried that she wouldn’t like what Cain would say next.

“And Charles is even better,” Cain dragged.

Raven stared, her eyes wide open, trying to decipher his looks.

“Oh, you remember, don’t you? Charles _is_ an omega, right?”

__

“Please, my Lord, don’t do this!” Lady Sharon cried, shaking in the other carriage.

“Get a grip on yourself, woman!” Lord Marko’s loud command brought her to her senses. She tried to control her emotions. Of course, Lord Marko did this for the greater good, right? There must be some good about it, surely. He wouldn’t mean to harm Charles. Right? Of course! Charles was their son! Something good would come out of this.

…Right?

She ceased her weeping, looking up to the moon outside the carriage. Clouds had covered half the silver surface, darkening half the land.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, looking at the hem of her skirts. She hoped that her apologies would calm down the Lord enough to explain his actions.

Moments passed and Lord Marko said nothing. Outside, the horses had now picked up pace. The two carriages and the accompanying soldiers of the House of Xavier moved further away from the wedding venue with each passing breath.

“Why, my Lord?” she dared ask, her voice weak with tension.

When Lord Marko didn’t say anything, she thought that he would forever keep her in the dark. His voice surprised her, though, because when he spoke, it was as if he was talking to himself.

“They think I am a fool,” he whispered, looking out into the wilderness.

“What?” Lady Sharon thought she had misheard.

“Tell me Sharon! Do _you_ think I am a fool?” he suddenly shouted, raising his voice.

“N-no, my Lord, no!” she replied, stammering. No, she should keep herself in check. She was the Lady of the House, she couldn’t act restless.

“But they think I don’t see it!” Lord Marko said, eyes gleaming, with a gleam that was almost…madness.

“See what?” Lady Sharon asked.

“Do you think someone like the Black King would simply give away such a potential spouse? For no apparent reason? I was offering everything he wanted, didn’t I? And on top of that, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, Lord Lehnsherr of the North appears; ready to accept the same groom Shaw refused to take. Coincidence? I think not!” Marko spat.

“I’m sorry my Lord, I don’t follow? I know Lord Shaw’s sudden refusal for the marriage was bad news. It was devastating! But Ser Lehnsherr came to the rescue. Everything was finally getting right. So what happened?”

“Of course you don’t! Try to understand, woman!” Lord Marko’s voice was turning frustrated.

“How is Charles involved in this?”

“Charles! Your _son_ is the reason for all this! You haven’t heard the people talk, have you Sharon? No, of course you haven’t! They say your son is cursed! That’s why Shaw gave him up.”

“What? Cursed?” Lady Sharon sat back. Charles wasn’t cursed. He couldn’t be!

“Aye! But this isn’t as simple as it looks, is it? I know something is off about it. I am pretty sure the House of Lehnsherr is involved, somewhere or the other. A whole House –and the House of Shaw, nonetheless- suddenly starts to believe their new member is cursed? No, Sharon, something is not right.”

Lady Sharon had nothing to say. So she decided to keep quiet, and listen.

“I am pretty sure this will lead to worse consequences. I _know_ ; I have sources which tell me so. The Shaws have been tricked, somehow or the other. And when the Black King finds this out, he will march out for vengeance.”

Outside, they had crossed the habitations and entered the path through the forests.

“A war. Between the House of Lehnsherr and the House of Shaw. And guess, who would be crowned as the scapegoat?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Us, who else? The Xaviers would be accused of betrayal. Either by the House of Lehnsherr, or the House of Shaw. It doesn’t matter. We would be dragged into this, one way or the other.”

“A war?” Lady Sharon asked, getting confused with each word she heard. Lord Lehnsherr was involved in this? How? What did Charles do?

“Yes, _war_ , Sharon. Between the North and the South. And _we_ suffer. I don’t want that! What have we done that we should suffer?

“It’s your son’s fault. It’s happening because of _him_. But now that he is no longer under the care of the House, we are not liable to whatever happens because of him.”

“Charles?” Sharon frowned.

“Yes, Charles. I don’t want to be responsible for his deeds. Thus I had to do what I did. You understand, don’t you Sharon?”

“Yes. Yes, I do, my Lord,” Sharon agreed, though she wasn’t sure a hundred percent.

Outside, a lone wolf howled to the moon.

__

“A _pet_ for the travelling merchants, maybe?” Cain was suggesting. “Ah. Imagine. An omega concubine. Yes! That’s what he’d be!”

“No!” Raven said, her imagination running wild, promising to haunt her in her sleep.

“Why, Raven. Don’t you think, becoming a personal _slave_ is better than capital punishment?” Cain smirked.

Raven didn’t answer; couldn’t. She didn’t _know_ the answer. Her Charles, her poor, sweet Charles. Who was untouched. The mere thoughts of some filthy alpha brute touching him, taking him, without any tenderness, _only pain_ , disgusted her very soul. Outside the carriage, somewhere very near, a wolf howled and answered for her instead.

“ _No_! Ser Lehnsherr!” She suddenly remembered. “He wouldn’t let them take him! He was supposed to marry Charles, right? He would keep him safe!”

“Really, Raven? Do you really think a respected nobleman like Ser Lehnsherr would marry an outcast-?”

“Stop calling him _that!_ ” Raven interrupted.

“But that’s what he is now. Your Charles is an outcast.”

Raven hadn’t thought about it this way. But, it couldn’t be that bad, right? Charles was the same as before the –the disownment. Everything a respected nobleman could ever want. He was even better than Raven, in most of the fields; a fact she always disliked. But now, she was glad of it. Charles knew everything. He was perfect! Ser Lehnsherr had agreed for the marriage before; he wouldn’t refuse now! Would he?

To her, Cain’s words were vile, but she had no other options. She had to listen to him, because she had no idea what would happen to Charles. Cain was older than her, and he knew more about the world than she did. Maybe somehow, through their conversation, she could find out a solution to help Charles. Maybe? She looked up to her older brother, hoping that he would continue.

“Tell me, do you think Ser Lehnsherr would bargain all the reputation of his House and marry a disowned omega? Do you think _anyone_ would, let alone one of the strongest Houses of the North? This mere suggestion would offend him; and Erik Lehnsherr goes _wild_ when he gets angry. So they say, the soldiers who fight alongside him in the battlefield. They say he’s so hard to control, not even his own men can catch his attention once he’s enraged. All he knows is his honor and the blood of his enemies. And you’re saying you want him to _marry_ a dishonored whore?”

“ _Please_ ,” Raven interrupted once more, unable to control her grief. She wanted to run away; run away from this beast who called himself her brother, away from the fiend who called himself their father. “Don’t call him that. He’s _Charles._ He’s not a… not a… _that!_ ”

“Aye. But he will be. Soon,” Cain scorned. “That is, if your _Ser_ Lehnsherr spares his life,” he added as an afterthought.

“No!” Raven covered both her ears, as if blocking out her step-brother’s disdainful laughter would block out the dark future that awaited Charles.

Pain. Anger. Humiliation. Dishonor. Sorrow. _Death_.

Dark alternatives entertained her mind in turns with a macabre dance. Her _mind_! She suddenly remembered that she could contact Charles and find out what was happening with him.

 _‘Charles?’_ Her mind sought out, calling out to her brother dearest. _‘Charles, can you listen to me? Are you alright?’_

No answer.

_‘Charles? Are you there?”_

_‘Charles?’_

It was the distance between them, she concluded, of course! Charles wasn’t answering because he wasn’t powerful enough to catch signals from this afar. They must’ve driven apart further than she realized. And that’s why Charles couldn’t listen to her.

There was no other alternative, obviously. No cause to worry. Nothing. Charles was alright. He was, she knew it.

Because the rest was unthinkable.

Outside, the lone wolf’s chorus was joined by more of his snowy fiends, chilling the forest air with ghoulish music that raised goose bumps on every trespasser’s skin. Darklings watched as the two silver carriages of the House of Xavier crossed the wilderness, followed by their trusted soldiers on horses.

Hoof beats added symphony to the wolves’ music. The creatures of the night followed the light from the torches that disturbed their sleep, as if sensing something was wrong.

As if sensing that one of the members of the family that had made way through the forest a few days ago, had not made it to the return journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the disownment, since some of you've been asking~  
> Being married to the Lady of the House of Xavier makes Kurt Marko the legal head of Xaviers as well. Since Charles still hasn't come of age, he isnt the owner/head of the House, only the direct heir to all the properties.  
> In the universe, when someone gives up their House cloak, they do not necessarily have to give up their names as well. Charles would still be Charles Xavier-Lehnsherr, with the resources of both the Houses combined. Thus after marrying Charles, Erik would have a right to that share of wealth as well, which belonged to Charles, though not all the wealth of the Xaviers. Just the resources to which Charles is an heir.  
> Similarly, when Kurt married Sharon, he not only got a right to all properties and resources that Sharon owned, but as she was the head Lady of the House, Kurt received the title of the Head as well, earning a right to command everything under the name of Xavier -the household staff, the army, and any decision regarding the family. It doesnt matter whether Charles had already married Lehnsherr or not, Kurt still had the right to the Xavier House decisions.  
> Charles could've opposed, but as he still wasn't the Head, yet, he had nothing to say, especially in such orthodox society. You accept what the Head of your House says, bam! Had Charles been of appropriate age, (which I still haven't decided yet,) he could have stood against the decision. But he's still too young to say no.
> 
> Sharon could've objected, she had a full right to, yes. But owing to the conventional rules where women don't usually oppose their husbands, and her reserved nature as well, she didn't refuse to accept the decision. Had she been more of a revolting nature, like Raven, she could've stopped the whole thing. But she is one of the respected women of the society, who don't usually disrespect the words of their Lord-husbands, whether they like it or not.  
> Raven on the other hand, tried to object, but she, being a minor as well, her opinion didn't matter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A full body shiver crept up from his toes when he realized what the bitter-sweet scent, that washed him over and over again, was.  
> So much of it. As if he had fallen into an unending abyss of lust, avarice, and he couldn’t get out.

 

_They say the ones who are blessed are also the ones who are cursed. Virtues are not golden strings of a divine harp that make beautiful music to season life. They are gilded chords, encircling the throat, choking, ready to squeeze out the breath of life any second. Virtues are not wings that lift you up into the air, that glide you over your problems. They are nightly shrouds, blocking away the light of hope, isolating you from the rest of the world_.

_The world doesn’t appreciate the problems you face; they only acknowledge the advantages you receive. Even when the problems outweigh the advantages. They only concede the virtuous angels, not the devil-faced vices that come hand in hand, in pairs. For each pure virtue that kisses your lips, there are many sinful vices gripping your heart, piercing the veins, polluting the blood._

_Those who walk in the light of virtues, have vices in their shadows._

_Those who are blessed, are the ones who are cursed_.

__

Ah.

How the tables turn.

Charles wasn’t sure what really happened.

One moment, he was telepathically talking to his to-be husband, ready to be re-cloaked in new colors, ready to leave behind his own world and join a new world, a new world full of promises and adventures, meet new people, form new relations, find out new truths, learn new languages, discover new mutations.

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock._

The immense _hatred_ suddenly coming off from his step-father blocked every other connection in his mind. All his mind felt was the feeling of rage and hatred, and _disgust,_ crashing into him like a tempest wave. He was taken back with the level of intensity of the emotions. As if his step-father had crashed all the flood-gates at the same time, and let his sentiments _flow._

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock_.

The handsome image of Ser Lehnsherr was ripped apart from his eyes, and he faced his step-father again, face twisted in a disgusted snarl.

“Charles Francis Xavier. We hereby disown you.”

The words registered in his mind, but he wasn’t sure what to make of it. The speech sounded familiar, but Charles was sure his father was speaking in a different language. He couldn’t decipher the meaning of the syllables. Surely he was mistaken. He couldn’t- His father wouldn’t.

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock._

Fabrics tear so easily, Charles learnt. Truly, the ceremonial robe he was wearing was sunshine-thin, traditionally meant to seduce the groom. But he had never seen any cloth tear apart like paper, until that day.

Everything had the blur of a dream-like haze; the candle light appeared milky, the flowers waxy and the satin upholstery creamy. The air had the slow uncertainty of a fluid, as if he were in a pot of translucent, molten gold, and was looking out to the world from underneath the surface. As if he were glimpsing the future through a fortune-teller’s crystal, all the motions slowed down.

He looked down to his father’s grip on his collar, and he saw him tug. He saw the fabric strands come apart, his House brooch falling to the ground and rolling away. He didn’t let go of the flowers intentionally, the bouquet just fell down with the impact of the jerk.

Ripping noises filled the void created by the sudden silence of the musicians. Why had they stopped? Charles couldn’t process anything else but the ‘ _Oh my goodness!_ ’ and ‘ _What is happening_?’  that every mind in the hall suddenly screamed. A few of the ladies even set loose a symphony of gasps.

The room felt cooler. He felt exposed. A shiver travelled down his spine.

He blinked, tilting his head by habit, trying to process what was happening. Voiced filled the emptiness. Charles recognized them, most of them. Mother. Raven. His step-father.

There was shrieking and sobbing. Sounds of hitting, and falling. Sounds of tears and grunts. Of questions and declarations.

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock._

Before he could say anything, he found himself standing alone on the aisle. The warm presence of his family slowly faded away from his mind, getting lighter with each second that passed.

And then, those _other_ thoughts filled the venue hall, and his mind.

__

A familiar voice in his mind snapped his attention back to the present. Someone was calling out to him, someone far away. Someone he knew. He just couldn’t register the identity of the owner. The voice was muffled, and Charles felt like he was in the pot of gold again; all voices outside the liquid drowned out.

He should’ve recognized the voice, he knew. But he couldn’t.

Because he was busy trying to saving himself from drowning. Drowning in the sea of lewd thoughts that surrounded him from all sides.

‘ _Oh my!’_

_‘-see all that-’_

_‘-unmarked-’_

_‘-pale skin-’_

_‘-begging to be taken-’_

_‘-to be claimed-’_

_‘-that scent-’_

_‘-curve of that ass-’_

_‘-flesh-’_

_‘-untouched-’_

Lords, Ladies, soldiers, housekeepers; all voices had the same intentions. As Charles started to focus more on his surroundings, the words turned into sentences, but their ruthlessness didn’t pacify.

‘- _want to fuck him over the alter-’_

_‘-on the floor-’_

_‘-pound into that slick hole and-’_

_‘-make him beg for it-’_

_‘-so hard for it-’_

_‘-want it-’_

_‘-now!’_

Horrified, Charles tried to shut off his telepathy, but something was wrong. He couldn’t get his senses under control; he couldn’t _think._

The shimmering gold was blinding his eyes, clogging his nose, creeping into his ears; suffocating him, and that’s when he realized what the gold was.

Alpha hormones.

A full body shiver crept up from his toes when he realized what the bitter-sweet scent, that washed him over and over again, was.

So much of it. As if he had fallen into an unending abyss of lust, avarice, and he couldn’t get out. Wouldn’t stop falling, till he reached the bottom, where sunlight never touched, that is, if there was a bottom. That is, if he escaped the clutches of the horrifying creatures that roamed about, lurking in the darkness.

Adrenaline rushed in and he tried to make sense of the directions. He couldn’t fight them, all of them. He had to escape.

Looking up, he searched for the nearest exit. But now that his father was not towering in front of him, he had a clear view of the guests. Instead of their painted faces and decorated dresses, he saw their lust, red hot, overflowing. Hunger, for _him._ Coming at him in waves, with such intensity that he had to take a step back, as if creating a distance would shield his body.

A small part to him wanted to stay, give in to his urges, spread open his legs and let the alphas do what they wanted.

No. What was _that?!_ He had to hurry away from here, or else the hormones would reduce his senses to nothing.

He turned to his right, and found himself face to face with Ser Lehnsherr.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There had been numerous times when Erik had been proud of the Lehnsherr cloak, but he’d never been as grateful for the obscuring _design_ as he was now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for extremely cheesy use of title, sorry not sorry!

Erik stood breaths apart from Charles, a diaphanous silvery veil the only obstacle between them. Charles had clear blue eyes which reflected the intricate pattern of the gossamer. Eyes, which widened as soon as they met Erik’s, and Charles visibly flinched away.

Erik reached out, instinctively, as if he was afraid that he’d lose …something, but as Charles cowered away from the touch, Erik realized he’d have to approach cautiously. He had seen the way Charles moved back from the guests, the way his blue eyes scanned the entire hall, the way his body tensed, breath hitched.

_‘Charles, my prince? Can you listen to me?’_

Charles’ eyes were wild, and they searched here and there before finally settling onto Erik’s, with a questioning look. Erik slowly nodded, hoping he had his confident assurance on his face.

_‘Alright. Now. Will you come with me?’_

Charles blinked, frowning. Like a wild animal, who didn’t understand his own language. Erik slowly reached out, offering both his hands, palm side up, holding his breath in anticipation.

_‘My prince. Will you marry me?’_

Eyes wide, Charles looked down to his offered hands, and then back to his face again. Biting his lips, he nodded, but didn’t take Erik’s hand. He then looked down to the floor, and didn’t meet Erik’s eyes again.

The amount of alpha hormones increased noticeably in the atmosphere, irritating Erik’s senses. He could only imagine how this was affecting Charles.

Erik looked around, and noticed the Xavier brooch on the floor, a little to the left. Reaching out with his hand, he summoned the metal to his reach, and the small brooch obeyed.

Emma was still standing two steps behind him, with the cloak for Charles in her hand. No, that won’t do.

Erik took off his own cloak, and pinned it around Charles’ shoulders; the pastel skin standing out against the dark satin cascading down and pooling at his feet. The cloak not only covered the omega’s mouth-watering body, but also damped his scent- after all, Erik had worn it enough times to leave his own fragrance in it. It was stitched especially for Erik’s height and stature; so it came a little loose around Charles’ shoulders, exposing his collar bones where the brooch held the two ends together, right above the heart. The cut in the satin ran down from there, exposing more of the moon-kissed skin as Erik’s eyes roamed downward; outlining the chest, one peak of a sharp hipbone, a freckled thigh and lean legs. A gift from the forest spirits, Erik was sure.

There had been numerous times when Erik had been proud of the Lehnsherr cloak, but he’d never been as grateful for the obscuring _design_ as he was now.

It wasn’t the greatest solution, but it was the best Erik could do in such short time. He needed to get Charles out of the hall full of alphas as soon as he could. Not that he couldn’t handle them, if he wanted. But some of them were allies, and some of them had big, time-consuming armies to overcome. And Erik already had some names on his list, a few of them freshly added.

_‘Come.’_

Erik offered his hand again, unsure, but this time Charles took it. Erik felt his heart leap with the contact, but this was not a moment to swoon. He had to act fast.

Charles’ hand was warmer than what it should be, Erik noticed. Charles still didn’t meet his eyes. But he took a step forward, violet satin of the Lehnsherr cape parting to make way for his feet.

Erik had no idea why Lord Marko had chosen to disown Charles, but he decided to ponder upon it later. There were important things to focus on, at the moment.

As they covered the small distance to the altar, Erik registered a few muffled, disapproving alpha growls. He ignored them and faced the priest.

“Quick,” he ordered, his free hand fisting, anger increasing with the level of hormones in the hall.

His ears twitched, a sharp scent irritating his nose. Charles stiffened again, hand shivering in Erik’s grip. Erik sensed an alpha getting too close. He turned, abruptly, brandishing his sword. He didn’t let go of Charles’ hand.

“What?” he growled at Emma, placing the point of his sword on her pulse.

_‘How do you plan to get married without your cloak?’_

Emma raised the platter in her hand, pointing to the cloak. She was not breathing through her nose; Erik noticed her parted lips. She looked like she was concentrating too hard. In fact, she was, she _had_ to- Erik didn’t forget that Charles had an _overpowering_ fragrance.

 Azazel stepped forward, and she passed the platter to him. She then took the cloak in one hand, and outstretched the other.

_‘The brooch, smartstuff.’_

Embarrassed, but not quiet, Erik sheathed his sword, and handed her the Lehnsherr brooch. Still, when she helped him on with the cloak, he stood between her and Charles. One can never be too careful with an alpha, Erik knew that.

 _‘I’m sorry,’_ he said, nodding firmly.

‘ _You’re not,’_ Emma smiled through a frown. ‘ _Now, go get married, you idiot.’_

She stepped back, behind Janos and Azazel, and her scent faded away.

Erik turned back to the priest, gently prying his fingers between Charles’. He caught Charles looking at him, and nodded. Charles tilted his head, something of a half-nod. Then the telepath relaxed his hand and let Erik entwine their fingers.

Erik felt as if someone took a huge burden off his chest.

The priest finished all his rituals as quickly as he could, his speed accelerated by the glares Erik sent every two minutes.

There was tension in the air, palpable, every second measured. The atmosphere grew denser with mixed emotions and lust-filled hormones.

“And now the grooms kiss, to seal the sacred ceremony,” the priest announced, and Charles went still, hand growing lax in Erik’s grasp.

__

Erik glared at the priest again. Did the man not understand the situation, how delicately everything stood, balanced on a knife’s edge? How Charles must feel, tethered by a clasp of hands, surrounded by hungry alphas from all sides? Though Erik would slash their eyes out for every look they dared, Erik doubted that Charles knew that.

How could the priest expect Erik to make a move and believe that won’t set Charles scrambling for the nearest exit?

“I apologize, my Lord,” the high priest said, apparently understanding. “But it is necessary. The ceremony is incomplete without the physical union.” The priest spoke slowly, almost whispering, but his voice sounded like thunder in the silent hall.

Charles’ fingers tightened around Erik’s.

Erik looked at their clutched hands and then slowly to Charles’ face. Heavenly blue eyes glistened with unshed storms, through the veil. But Charles nodded his head nonetheless, a nervous half-nod again, turning to face Erik.

Erik took a step forward, covering the distance between them. Charles flinched, fingers taut where Erik held them. Erik could see his eyes brimming with tears, but Charles didn’t let them fall. Instead, he closed his eyes, impeding Erik from understanding his mental state further.

Erik could make out the dragon-fire red of the lips through the veil, the tempting creases that peeked from between the web-thin laces, the satin like texture, like sunlight on blood red roses. Lips that had haunted him in his dreams for more than one night. Lips that framed the brightest smile the night amongst the masked dancers and candlelit wine.

How he had wanted to kiss those lips ever since he saw their artistic clones in the painting Azazel brought! Even more when he was breaths apart from them in the masquerade ball. And he was pretty sure his desperation was unaccountable, when he saw Charles walk under the flowered arch.

Erik placed the fingers of his free hand on Charles’ veiled cheek, to finally remove the obstructing piece of cloth that barred his view. Charles winced away from the touch, but then forced himself to stay still.

The movement was like the lashing of a whip on Erik’s bare skin, bringing him out of his fantasy. He remembered that he was not walking on dreams, and Charles had thorns in his feet. How this kiss would’ve been Erik’s pleasure and Charles’ pain. How Charles would’ve thought that Erik was like the rest of the alphas in the foyer, ready to pounce on an unprotected omega. How much Charles had already endured in one night, pain enough for a lifetime.

And Erik was about to force himself on the telepath’s tortured senses?

Erik leaned forward, and placed his lips on Charles’, the veil in between the point of contact, never letting go of their hands clutched together.

Ser Lehnsherr kissed his groom through the lace veil.

The priest declared them a couple.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles’ eyes flew open, and he saw minty green eyes withdrawing from his. Something had shifted in the atmosphere, he was sure. Something was not right…but it wasn’t wrong. It was …simply _not_ right.

The day had been a cloudy one, Charles remembered. Instead of sunshine in his face, Charles had woken up with darkness creeping out from the east. Uncertain and looming, the clouds were out of season. But they didn’t dampen Charles’ mood. He was buzzing with nervous excitement, even when the clouds outside threatened to wash down tears any second.

Initially, the wedding was supposed to be outside, underneath the autumn trees. The candles and flowers _inside_ the wedding hall were improvisations, led by a furious Lady Sharon. The glass windows had been bolted tightly to keep the chilly winds outside, and protect the candles. Much as Charles wanted to have his wedding outside, he was content; the candlelight gave an ethereal glow to everything. Everything looked _stunning,_ a dream he couldn’t complain of.

A dream, which came down crashing like a crystal moon, shattering into millions of stars, each of them piercing his eyes and making him bleed, till he couldn’t see the light of the world.

It was as if… his brain simply blew out; as if someone had opened all the windows and the unforgiving  winds had blown away his thinking process. It took him some time to register what was happening, but that was it. He couldn’t progress any further.

All he knew was that he had to get away. Away from so many minds thinking at once, thinking about _him_ , thinking _such thoughts_ about him. They _all_ appeared hostile. Charles knew he had to get away, but he didn’t know _how_. He couldn’t think. It was as if he was standing in the middle of a turbulent storm, clinging to the shipwreck of his mind. So many unorganized thoughts, s _uch chaos!_

And there, all of a sudden, a lighthouse amidst the disorder, eyes like two storm lanterns. Ser Lehnsherr, he was calling out to Charles. Not with his voice though, as if he knew that Charles couldn’t pay attention to the sounds around them. It was his mind, sturdy and secure, calling out to Charles’, a voice much more powerful, more raw…and more trustworthy, for a telepath.

_‘Charles, my prince.’_

Prince? Charles was not a prince. He was the youngest son of the House- he _wasn’t_ the youngest son of the House of Xavier anymore, was he? What was he?

He was nothing. He had- he had no title! He was Charles. Simply Charles.

Charles knew what kind of people had no titles- lowly servants and. Pleasure slaves. Sometimes they didn’t even have names.

Did _he_ even have the right to his name, or he couldn’t keep it anymore? What was his value, this nameless, unclothed, dishonored, disownment that he was? Would people even dare to _look_ at him, let alone help him?

And yet, there he was, Ser Lehnsherr, standing a few steps in front of him, hands reaching out, inviting him. Calling him a prince.   _Asking Charles to marry him._

Charles looked into his eyes, his mind searching for any signs of dishonesty, lechery, anything he could take as a signal and run for his life. But Ser Lehnsherr appeared clean, untarnished. And he was honestly _asking_ Charles to marry him.

There was something about his untamed sincerity that made Charles forget everything that had gone wrong, and he said yes.

Why was Ser Lehnsherr doing this? Charles’ own family had renounced him, why was Ser Lehnsherr being nice to him? What was the lord getting out of this? Charles had no more financial assets to give, no beneficial status for the House. In fact he was more of an entropy now, a disgrace to the House. He looked down to the floor, unable to bear the luminosity of the truth. Why was Ser Lehnsherr not feeding him to the dogs, but marrying him?

He could still see Ser Lehnsherr’s feet, moving closer. A hand reaching out, to his right, and Charles would’ve entirely missed his Xavier brooch _flying_ to the metalbender’s hand, had he not been looking down. Had this been somewhere else, some other life, Charles would’ve verbally expressed his delight. But right now, he simply stood there, motionless, his excitement a numbness in his heart.

Ser Lehnsherr walked up to him, and did the unexpected. He took off his _own_ cape, and pinned it around Charles’ shoulder. The fabric was overwhelming his senses; the sensation of pure satin on his naked skin, the fragrance, and most importantly, the knowledge that this cloak actually belonged to Ser Lehnsherr.

The making of the cloak was different from the Xavier cloak, and Charles’ body could recognize the differences. Unlike the Xavier cloak, where the brooch was pinned right above the sternum, the Lehnsherr cloak was pinned a little to the left, near the heart. The cloak parted on the side of the body, leaving space for one arm to function properly without getting tangled in the fabric, and without exposing the whole front. Instead of the proud Xavier collar, Charles could feel the weight of the hood in the cloak of the north.

It was a bit loose around Charles’ shoulders, and it pooled down around his feet, probably because it was not designed for him, but this acknowledgement itself sent a shudder down his spine. _This was Ser Lehnsherr’s cloak._ The one he must’ve worn whenever he stepped out of his chambers, when he dressed himself after a bath in the morning, when he swept off charming ladies on the dance floor, when he attended and commanded his mighty army. A cloak that must’ve caressed the naked breasts of the said ladies when they retired to his bedchambers. A cloth that probably had more contact with his body than any number of the ladies combined.

The cloak, which was leaving lingering kisses all around Charles’ body. He felt his body heat up at every point of contact. He was absorbed so much in the intimacy, that he almost jumped when Ser Lehnsherr called out to him again.

 _‘Come,’_ he whispered in his mind, and Charles was following; like the sunflower turning towards the sun, like the tides moving towards the moon, a moth towards fire, he followed, hypnotized, searching for solace.

His ears picked up growls, and that’s when he remembered the other alphas in the room. There was…it was because of the cloak! The fragrance, Ser Lehnsherr’s scent, that intoxicated his senses, and blocked out all other scents. Aroma, that was absolutely mouth watering, so intense that he could almost taste it on his tongue. As if the satin caresses on his cock and Ser Lehnsherr’s grip on his hand were not enough, he wanted to moan out loud because of the scent, and the _things_ it was doing to him.

Amidst his lusty haze, Charles felt another alpha in the vicinity, and immediately, his comforting fortress shattered down, his arousal dying out. He tensed, trying to move away, but Ser Lehnsherr still had a tight grip on him. Charles shivered at the thought of being helpless when surrounded by so many alphas.

But Ser Lehnsherr was as quick as a thunderbolt. Before Charles knew what was happening, Ser Lehnsherr had the tip of his sword balanced on Lady Frost’s – _alpha–_ throat _._ Ser Lehnsherr growled a question, his hold never withering, and it sent pleasant sparks down Charles’ spine.

Wait. Something was wrong with him.

Lady Frost and Ser Lehnsherr seemed to have a telepathic conversation, one that Charles didn’t feel like peeking into. He simply couldn’t muster up enough confidence. Maybe Lady Frost was reminding him of Charles’ discredit, trying to convince him to discard Charles, just as the Xavier family had done. Or worse, maybe she was trying to buy Charles from Ser Lehnsherr’s custody –she was an alpha, after all, and Charles could sense her hormones heating up.

Charles blinked, trying to clear his mind. Why was he getting so paranoid?

To his surprise, however, Lady Frost cloaked Ser Lehnsherr with the fabric that was supposed to be Charles’. Ser Lehnsherr didn’t let go of his hand, and he stood in between Charles and the lady, never letting the female alpha near Charles.

After she was done, Lady Frost stepped behind the two men with the Lehnsherr cape, and her scent almost faded away. The men…they were not alphas.

Ser Lehnsherr looked at him, eyes unsure. Charles felt his fingers moving in his grip, urging to entwine, as if Ser Lehnsherr was asking for his permission. Charles tilted his head, unsure of what was happening, whether he was really seeing things rights, but that seemed to be the correct answer. Was Ser Lehnsherr _really_ asking for his permission?

He felt their fingers locking together, and the warmth that radiated off Ser Lehnsherr’s mind was almost palpable.

The rituals went by almost in a haze. It was the high priest’s voice that broke his trance.

He asked them to kiss.

No. It was too soon. Charles didn’t want to take off his veil and expose his face to the room full of alphas. He didn’t want to look into their lecherous eyes. He didn’t want to have any physical contact with any alpha. Unknowingly, however, his fingers tightened around Ser Lehnsherr’s, as if seeking protection. He didn’t know why he did that. Maybe his body was looking for relief from any plausible source.

The priest explained that it was necessary, or else all rituals were annihilated.

It was almost a disgrace to the Lehnsherr House. An annihilated wedding! Especially when Ser Lehnsherr was being so …considerate towards Charles. He hadn’t thrown him to the dogs, better still, he hadn’t thrown him to the alphas. Ser Lehnsherr had not enslaved him, even when he had the first right to. He had not even insulted Charles. Nor hit him. Didn’t abuse him.

And now, Ser Lehnsherr would have an annihilated wedding, because of Charles. Something told him that Ser Lehnsherr would not force himself.

If he did, however Charles would muster all his strength and power, and make a run for his life. He could do that –freeze the time frames of people’s minds, even though he wouldn’t last long. He could try.

But Ser Lehnsherr was glaring at the priest, as if that would solve the problem.

No. Charles could do it. He was a son of the House of-

He wasn’t. Tears swelled up at the thought.

He was simply Charles, at least up to now, and he would respect the House that was _patronizing_ him.

He squeezed Ser Lehnsherr’s hand, seeking an audience. Ser Lehnsherr looked at their hands, and then to Charles’ face. Charles nodded, turning to face the man.

Ser Lehnsherr stepped closer, so close now, that Charles flinched away. Mentally willing himself, he swallowed his tears and forced himself to stand still.

Nonetheless, when he felt the warmth of Ser Lehnsherr’s fingers on his cheek, he winced away. No, this won’t do. He forced himself to be still and accept his fate.

But then instead of feeling the cool air of the room on his face, he felt the fabric brush against his lips, and along with it, the gentle pressure of another pair of lips.

Ser Lehnsherr had kissed him through his veil.

Charles’ eyes flew open, and he saw minty green eyes withdrawing from his. Something had shifted in the atmosphere, he was sure. Something was not right…but it wasn’t wrong. It was …simply _not_ right.

The clouds- suddenly, there were no more clouds in the sky, and sunlight swept in through the large windows behind Ser Lehnsherr, the setting sun giving him a golden halo around the edges. It was warm on Charles’ skin, wherever it could reach.

The air felt different, Charles’ heart was beating faster, he could still feel the warmth on his lips, and his body was tingling…as if there were firecrackers going off underneath his skin. He wanted to take hold of Ser Lehnsherr’s dress shirt and kiss him again.

This hadn’t happened before, not ever. It scared Charles, the way he wanted Ser Lehnsherr to take him on the floor, right here, right now. The way he wanted to submit to him, trust him with his life. Obey.

Ser Lehnsherr was looking at him, frowning, calculating, as if he could feel the difference as well. Or maybe he was a necromancer, who had somehow captured Charles’ soul, forever.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bittersweet fragrance swelled, like colored incense slowly creeping in from a private shrine. Emma felt the fragrance reaching deep underneath her skin. She closed her eyes and suppressed the blissful shiver that ran through her body.

Emma moved away from the windows when the bright sunlight suddenly flooded the ominous atmosphere.  _Argh,_ as if things could get any worse.

She loved living in the North, because of the weather of all things. And the people; her family, of course. But the weather! She preferred the snowy storms to the garish sunlight that was currently blinding her eyes. Cold breezes and icy snowfalls, and Emma could wear her favorite furs all the time.

Things had gone downhill ever since Lord Marko had announced his unchanging declaration. The alphas getting wild, Xavier’s mental conditions, Erik’s behavior, Emma’s _own_ alpha senses getting out of control. And now this sunlight.

From behind Janos and Azazel, Emma felt a clink in the atmosphere, like the drum roll to something big.

Initially, she thought her telepathic senses had picked up something. But when she barely controlled the growl that rumbled from somewhere deep in her chest, she registered that it was her alpha senses that had noticed the subtle difference.

 _‘Move’,_ she ordered Azazel, almost tenaciously.

The devil-skinned lord hesitated, and then stepped aside, parting ways for her.

Emma caught Erik tilting Charles’ chin and kissing him ever so chastely, with the piece of cloth in between. When they parted, the sunlight behind them sharpened Erik’s sharp features and silhouetted Charles’ face through the veil. It lit up the dust particles around them like diamonds glimmering in fire light.

A bittersweet fragrance swelled, like colored incense slowly creeping in from a private shrine. Emma felt the fragrance reaching deep underneath her skin. She closed her eyes and suppressed the blissful shiver that ran through her body.

Moments passed, but neither of the men on the altar moved. Emma noticed the guests getting impatient.

 _‘Lady Emma,’_ came Janos’ strangled voice in her mind. _‘Please. Do something?’_

The pheromones must be affecting others as much as they were affecting the alphas in the room. She looked back to the altar.

She was sure, by the way Erik was peering into the veil that he hadn’t figured out what was happening. Even though she couldn’t see Charles’ face, his stillness indicated his unawareness.

She decided to intervene. Charles, as a telepath, was much easier to approach, but she wasn’t sure how much she’d be able to control her urges once she was _inside_ his mind. Erik, as an alpha, was more repulsive, but she decided to take chances with him.

 _‘Erik?’_ she approached cautiously. Erik’s mind was a mess of _possession-hunger-mine-more-need-urgent-now-mine!_

‘ _Erik_!’ she called again.

‘ _What_?’ he growled, tearing his eyes away from his groom and glaring at Emma. His fingers still lingered at the veiled cheek.

_‘That was…You just…imprinted on your omega.’_

__

Erik was always like an elder brother to Emma. It suddenly made sense why he was acting like a younger brother she never thought she wanted. Erik was certifiably an idiot; she knew that. Apart from being a brilliant leader and an unyielding warrior, of course. But it still surprised her that he took such a long time to realize.

He had been infatuated with Charles, ever since he laid eyes on him, yes. Ever since he saw that _painting_ , Emma remembered. So, Erik recognized out his omega with one look, but it still took him an imperfect wedding kiss to realize that?

And here Erik was, blinking at her as if she had asked for his heart to be ripped out for her dinner.

“What?” Erik asked loudly, and Charles turned to face Emma.

She didn’t step away; neither did she get closer. _‘Yes, Erik,’_ she decided to keep this conversation private, even though she was sure half of the guests must’ve noticed the imprint already. _‘You found your true omega.’_

Erik’s eyes narrowed, and then he turned to Charles. They must’ve exchanged a few words, because after that, Erik turned to the guests with a determined look on his face. A look, which said ‘he’s going to make everything right.’ Oh, and also, ‘he’s going to make another big stupid mistake.’

 _‘Erik, stop. What are you doing?’_ Emma interrupted as Erik opened his mouth to speak.

 _‘Asking these curmudgeons to go home, what else?’_ Erik replied irritably, shooting a dirty look to Emma. He turned to the guests again.

_‘Stop! You can’t do this!’_

_‘Why?’_

Emma was sure if she interrupted him one more time, he’d use all metals in her ornaments to stuff her mouth. But hey! It was time for the elder sister to act.

 _‘Because, Ser Lehnsherr,’_ she focused on the title _, ‘most of your guests are important allies of your House. Since you’ve already decided not to call off the wedding, you must have the reception as well. Unless you want to insult all of them, intentionally.’_

 _‘What? I don’t want to insult them!’_ Erik looked offended.

 _‘Of course, inviting people from so far away, and sending them off without the formal toasts and banquet. Without ceremonial introductions and the dances. No parting gifts and goodbyes. This isn’t insulting, this is a mild way of single-handedly declaring a war, isn’t it?’_ Emma asked, tilting her head.

 _‘The people will understand, Emma,’_ Erik warned.

_‘They are not your household staff, Erik! They are political leaders, heads of important Houses! You can’t deport them off so easily!’_

_‘They just saw what happened!’_

Emma was sure Erik would scream out loud any second now, his face turning crimson.

_‘And you want all off them to spread over the kingdom without explaining as to why the House of Lehnsherr accepted a disowned Lord as a groom?’_

Erik’s shoulders drooped, a resigned expression taking over his face. He suddenly looked tired, and much older than his age.

Controlling his urges over his newly imprinted omega must be taking its toll.

 _‘Fine. What do you want me to do?’_ he asked.

 _‘Let me handle your guests,’_ Emma gave she knew what Erik called her signature ‘frosty’ grin.

Erik gave a small nod, and let Emma walk in front of the podium. He still stood in between Charles and her, but at least he didn’t have a sword piercing into her throat this time.

“My reverend Lords and Ladies,” Emma began, slow and professionally, letting her powers sweep over all the minds in the room.

__

“Lady Emma, are you alright now?” Janos asked, handing her a drink. Emma was sitting in a shady corner of the courtyard, trying to control the headache that had started creeping out through her nose in the form of liquid crimson, debauching her pale skin. The cold winds soothed her. She turned to her diamond form to stop the bleeding.

“You should go to Charles,” Emma said, pressing her handkerchief to her nose. Janos was an omega; Charles would trust him more than her or Azazel…provided that he kept a considerable distance from Erik of course.

“But, you’re not, I mean,” Janos laid a soft hand on her shoulders, and she stiffened. “You should rest, sleep maybe?”

“Janos!” She turned away, jerking her shoulder free from his hand.  “Get away if you don’t want to sleep _with_ me tonight.”

The omega’s scent faded as he rushed inside with a squealing blush.

Normally, Emma didn’t have any problem living with an omega in the house. They were her family. But right now, every omega looked delicious. Including Janos. Even Charles. _Especially_ Charles.

He had the strongest fragrance in the whole ballroom, like creamy clouds drifting in the vanilla sky. And Emma had already seen all that he had to offer; pale skin, delicious curves and sharp edges. So ripe, and untouched, and – _Erik’s_.  He was Erik’s. Erik’s omega.

Emma shook her head, trying to shake out the thoughts. How could she even think of taking something that was Erik’s? Some _one_ , that was Erik’s.

The lust wasn’t her own. To control the crowd from getting wild, she had used her powers to dampen all their improper feelings, while they paid attention to her speech, clueless to her mutation at work. She had announced that the wedding would not be called off, and neither would the reception, and the guests were supposed to enjoy and have a time of their life under the House of Lehnsherr. All that time, she had been programming each mind within her reach to believe this was a perfectly regular wedding. They might react later on, when they had already travelled far away, back to their homes, but right now, everything would seem normal. A bit off, maybe. But right now, her telepathy would lock their lusts into a blurry corner of their minds.

So now their feelings were channeled being through her and –Heavens! What else did she have to go through for Erik!

If this were not a tragic situation as it was, Emma would’ve almost found it hilarious; how _all_ the alphas she had counted in the hall, would be getting laid tonight. And the omegas! Hell, they’d be having the time of their life, alright. Pheromones released during imprinting got _everyone_ in the mood, a happy, ecstatic, _horny_ daze that made them forget their souls and just take someone against the wall or be taken against the same said wall.

She’d have gladly accepted the company of the pretty red-haired omega lady who had been winking at her all afternoon. Or maybe that dark haired young man, the one by the fountains. But something told her not to let go of the reins of everyone’s minds; just keep them in check, make sure everything ended right and not in bloodshed.

She looked down at her handkerchief with splatters of blood. _Damn you Lehnsherr._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a bad cold and I think I need sleep. I'll upload more soon, I promise!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _‘But Charles! He must be-’  
>  ‘Enough, Janos. Get out, now. And go and help him.’_ Lady Emma’s mind shut off like a fortress.

Janos hurried inside, careful to avoid all alphas in his way. Much as he didn’t want to leave Lady Frost alone, he knew she could take care of herself. Besides, he had no intentions of bedding the lady. The rest of his life at the House of Lehnsherr would be _awkward_ , to put it mildly.

He reached the bronze gates and peered inside through the glass. He could hear soft, muffled music, and unfocused sounds of gentle conversations among the clinks of cutlery. Lady Frost’s powers must be the ones responsible, he figured.

He opened the door, and stepped in. Almost immediately, the scents hit him, like the torrential rainfall back at his own home, in the tropics. He stilled, forcing his senses to avoid all urges, and looked for Charles.

He had felt the imprinting taking place, almost simultaneously with most of the other guests. If Janos could take into account his feelings only as a member of the Lehnsherr household, not as an omega, he’d have been glad that Charles was actually imprinted. Charles would _trust_ Erik now. Truly, Charles would get a bit suspicious at everything, but at least Erik would make sense to him.

 _‘Erm, Lady Emma?’_ He called with his mind, regretting his decision with each passing second. He didn’t have enough confidence (in both himself and Lady Frost) to go back and have a conversation face to face.

 _‘What.’_ Her voice came stifled, as if she had caught a bad cold. It was almost funny, the irony, that _Lady_ _Frost_ should catch a cold.

_‘Um. Lord Lehnsherr’s groom, he… I mean. Why is he not wearing any clothes yet?’_

Charles stood near the largest banquet table, with Erik in tow, close by. Too close. Erik must be positively breathing down his neck. Lord Azazel was few steps behind them, putting Erik between him and Charles. Or maybe Erik had stepped between them, Janos didn’t know.

Charles was still wearing the Lehnsherr cape and his translucent veil. But those were the only things he wore, pale skin peeking out through the darkness in small V-s.

 _‘Weddings don’t allow the brides and grooms to change their clothes or don anything new, but the clothes they were wearing during the main ceremony, right?’_ Emma answered irritably.

_‘Yes, but this is a different situation!’_

_‘I know this is bad. Erik wanted to have Charles in more clothes, but the head priest says no. Already this is a delicate situation; the wedding is hanging by threads, Janos. Anyone may object and question the sanctity. Breaking more traditions is like openly inviting people to question our sanity.’_ Emma focused on the last word, as if unsure of her sanity now. Her voice, even her mental one, was shaky.

_‘But Charles! He must be-’_

_‘Enough, Janos. Get out, now. And go and help him.’_ Lady Emma’s mind shut off like a fortress.

Janos sighed, and made way to the grooms, ignoring the funny looks Azazel was sending towards him.

* * *

 

Lady Frost’s telepathy was really strong, Janos realized. The guests, they were acting as if this was a perfectly normal wedding. There was tension in the air, and the level of hormones still palpable, but nobody indicated any signs of attacking each other.

Janos walked through the crowd and stopped beside Charles, sensing the other man tensing. He was about to say something when Charles tilted his face and looked at him through the veil. He gave a small nod and then turned back to face the people.

The guests stopped by every now and then, and Janos could see how hard it was, for both the grooms. Erik replied back through gritted teeth, but his replies were polite. Polite enough for Erik, at least. Charles kept cowering closer to Erik, but he still maintained a distance between them.

 _Strange,_ Janos thought. Usually after imprinting, omegas fully trusted their alphas, and they craved bodily contact as much as the other. What kept Charles from being close to Erik?

The music changed, and the junior priest said something to Azazel. The Lord, in turn, whispered something to Erik and his face contorted.

As a representative of the House of Lehnsherr, Janos had attended a number of weddings, along with Azazel. He recognized the music. It was time for the dance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the length and nothing-ness of this chapter, RL has really been hitting me hard. I'll be back with more, I promise!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The music was grand, but strangely tragic, as if the strings were weeping, but none of the musicians were paying attention to the story they were trying to tell. They were only busy with the superficial song they created._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me you _have_ seen [avictoriangirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/avictoriangirl/pseuds/avictoriangirl)'s [cover page ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1048966)for the story, right?

The Lehnsherr brooch was an intricately spun knot, a single band of gold twisted and weaved around itself so many times that it was hard to tell where it all started. It was motionless, and yet, it had a fluidity Charles had never seen in a lifeless piece. A sliver of endlessness captured in a finite piece of metal. An abstract design to the careless eye, yet Charles felt that he could decipher all the secrets of the universe in the horizon of that brooch.

Light from the candles shifted angles and the gold reflected off warmth directly into Charles’ eyes as Ser Lehnsherr moved with the slow music, and his cape and brooch moved with him. Even though the brooch in front of Charles’ eyes was scratched - marked with years of experience, like battle scars on a soldier’s skin - if he concentrated hard enough, he could see the hue from his eyes being reflected off the parts of the metal which still hadn’t lost its luster. Blue eyes looking like emerald in the gilded mirror.

Charles was oblivious to the music, as if the musicians were in a different room, so far away. He concentrated on Ser Lehnsherr’s breaths, ruffling his veil with each exhale. He tuned his ears to the rustling of fabric and the muffled footsteps on the cold stone floor. The warm hand holding his, a touch so s _calding,_ and yet not enough. Ser Lehnsherr had his other hand on Charles’ cloth-covered waist, while Charles held his free hand awkwardly folded in front of his chest. Because of the cape, he was not able to lift it up and place it on his partner’s shoulder without exposing his front. Even though it limited his movements, Charles was glad that the Lehnsherr cape had a side opening; his grip on Ser Lehnsherr’s palm was like an anchor to reality. If Charles had to stand there, without doing anything, simply being manhandled by Ser Lehnsherr like a rag doll, he’d have started to panic, internally. Of course Ser Lehnsherr could’ve forced him to use both his hands for the dance.

He didn’t.

There was something familiar about the warmth of Ser Lehnsherr’s embrace. Charles didn’t dare look up towards his face; he kept his gaze fixed on the golden metal shining on the dark fabric. But the tall stature, the silhouette of muscles underneath the fabric, the resolute grip on his hand and his waist. Charles felt as if he had done this before, in another life, far away.

Ser Lehnsherr maintained his distance, only touching Charles with his hands. Charles didn’t understand why he was feeling …what he was feeling. As if he was standing on a thin strip of land between two oceans; a glittering blue of want, dissatisfaction, needing _more,_ the water barely touching his feet and sparking him with lust, and then ebbing away. And on the other side, a turbulent violet, almost black vehemence; crashing waves of fury with crowns of white fear at their edges, spraying him with splashes of doubts and suspicions.

He knew he was thirsty, like a creature of the sea deprived of water from his lungs, but he didn’t know which side to turn to. He wanted Ser Lehnsherr to whisper profane things in the husky voice of his, and take him against the altar, right here. And on the other hand, Charles wanted to take complete control over his mind and make him do whatever Charles wanted.

He didn’t know whether he should trust Ser Lehnsherr, give into him, or seize the opportunity and run away, as soon as he could.

He decided not to mention to Ser Lehnsherr the weddings guests who, “accidently” touched, or brushed against him all this time. Or tried to grope him before changing their minds with Ser Lehnsherr snarling in the background. This much pride Charles could muster.

And then the dance ended; Ser Lehnsherr let go of his hand, and someone said, _‘too soon!’_ in his mind, but he wasn’t sure whether it was someone else, or his own self. He stood there, motionless, and Ser Lehnsherr stood in front of him, _with_ him. Charles didn’t dare look up to his face, moving his eyes down to their feet.

He knew he was hard, _aching_ for something he wasn’t sure he should ask for, and if it weren’t for the contours created by his hand, he was sure everyone would have seen his shame though the cape. How could he meet Ser Lehnsherr’s eyes? The Lord of the North would see right through his eyes, his veil and everything, and would see the undisguised, filthy want that coursed through Charles’ veins as Ser Lehnsherr’s mouth-watering fragrance filled his vision.

They stood there for an infinite moment, a hushed silence in the big, candle-lit hall. And then there were people walking towards them, and Charles concentrated on feeling their minds, ready to attack if anyone of them even thought of attacking him.

It was Lord Quested, coming to his side. He registered the devil-skinned Lord moving towards Ser Lehnsherr. People started talking again; they were moving, drinking, and other couples followed to the dance floor as per the traditions of the first dance.

But then, there was another mind, moving closer like a dark storm cloud.

“Ser Lehnsherr,” Charles recognized the icy accent of Lord Shaw –the Black King from South. “Congratulations,” Lord Shaw continued and Charles focused his eyes on the smooth stones of the dance floor. He didn’t hear -or see- what reaction Lord Lehnsherr gave.

Lord Shaw exchanged a few formal pleasantries and then cleared his throat, turning to Charles, congratulating him. Charles kept his eyes on the floor, and Ser Lehnsherr took a step closer.

“Erik, my friend,” Lord Shaw said in a tone that Charles disliked almost instantly. “May I have the kind privilege to dance with your groom?”

* * *

 

Charles felt Erik stiffen beside him. A few seconds passed, and if Charles hadn’t peeked up at that very moment, he’d have missed the electric current that passed between Lord Shaw and Lord Lehnsherr, as if they could electrocute each other with just looks.

Soon, too soon, and Lord Lehnsherr was nodding grimly, as if he was regretting his decision and helplessness at the same time. Or was he?

Charles didn’t want this. He didn’t want to dance with Lord Shaw; there was a strange vibe coming off him. But he had danced with Lord Lehnsherr, hadn’t he? How was Lord Shaw any different?

Lord Azazel invited Lord Lehnsherr for a drink, dragging him away. Charles looked up, catching him glancing behind his shoulders, with a stern look that deepened as he moved further away.

Leaving Charles alone with Lord Shaw in the middle of the crowd covered dance floor.

“My precious,” Lord Shaw gave a small bow, almost as if mocking, putting his hand forward for Charles to take. Charles saw the gluttony in his eyes, before taking the offered hand.

Lord Shaw was an alpha, and with the contact, Charles’ pheromones were immediately telling him to give into the man’s desires, be it someone who was not his husband. He shouldn’t care. He was an omega in _need_ and anyone willing to fulfill his requirements should be enough.

Charles would have, but something stopped him.

* * *

 

The music was grand, but strangely tragic, as if the strings were weeping, but none of the musicians were paying attention to the story they were trying to tell. They were only busy with the superficial song they created.

“Only one hand?” Lord Shaw asked.

Charles frowned, slightly moving his other arm to show his limitation.

“Aren’t you uncomfortable with one hand?” Shaw asked, moving his fingers slowly down Charles’ clothed bicep to settle on his waist in an unforgiving hold. “You could use the support of your other hand. We could do _so_ much with both your hands unoccupied.”

“But-” Charles motioned towards the cape again, ignoring the euphemism.

“Oh, Charles,” Lord Shaw leaned towards him. “You must understand that you have no need to hide anything from me. Besides-” he leaned closer, whispering. “-do you think not of what I must have seen before your groom gave you his cape? What _everyone_ in this hall has already seen?”

Charles leaned away with disgust, looking into his eyes, disbelievingly. Lord Shaw took a step with the music, forcing Charles to follow. A few steps and then a turn, and Lord Shaw was pulling their bodies close.

“I think Erik made a mistake,” Shaw said with a smile. “He shouldn’t cover up such a lovely feast for eyes. I think it’s rather unfair, don’t you, my little one?”

Time seemed to be crawling, the song sounded unending. Charles wanted this hellish dance to be over as soon as it could. He looked away, trying to find something to focus his vision on. Unintentionally, his eyes found Ser Lehnsherr, dancing with a woman with raven black hair, looking towards their direction every few seconds.

 _Omega,_ Charles’ insides snarled at the woman, but then he felt Lord Shaw’s hand inching down from his waist, further down, to settle on the curvy flesh, and Lord Shaw _squeezed_ , making Charles freeze with shock.

“Don’t stop, pretty boy,” Shaw said, pulling him into the dance again. “Don’t you know that it is rude to leave a dance in its prime?”

Charles tried to free his hand, move away, but Lord Shaw pulled him even closer, their bodies getting flushed together.

“Oh! Well, well,” He exclaimed, feeling Charles’ untainted desire. Charles tried to break free, face flushing with shame, but Lord Shaw looped his hand further across Charles’ back, locking him in. Charles could smell the exotic wine in his breath.

“I should’ve never let you go,” Lord Shaw said, towering over him. “You should’ve been mine,” he punctuated his thoughts by rubbing his thigh on Charles’ sensitive hard-on and Charles bucked forward, his cheek colliding with the metal brooch of the House of Shaw. A copper helm of a warrior that shone with a blood-lustre in the candlelight.

Charles clenched his eyes tightly, unsure what to feel. A storm of mixed emotions, anger, lust, helplessness, and shock, clouded over his eyes.

And then he realized that those emotions were not his own.

‘ _Charles!’_ Ser Lehnsherr’s voice snapped in his mind, demanding answers and submission, moving like a current, straight to his cock.

After the ceremony at the altar was over, Charles had locked his mind away from Ser Lehnsherr’s, all this time. Away from every mind, to be honest. But Ser Lehnsherr’s voice had cut through his barriers without permission, as if Charles’ mind belonged to the metalbender, and Charles wasn’t sure how that could’ve happened.

The rough growl of possessiveness made Charles want to fall to his knees, with only a single set of eyes to look up to. The hooded emeralds of Ser Lehnsherr, cutting into his soul like diamonds, as he moved towards him from the other side of the hall, like the sun, overthrowing the clouds, loud and bright.


	12. Chapter 12

Erik had an affinity to metals. Not just because of his powers. The metals, they called out to him, sang to him, as if pointing at something with their cool touches and steadfast existence. His powers were what helped him identify their resonance, like the wind echoing through a winter forest. Helped him compare his reflection on the polished surfaces to that on a frozen lake. The way the metals always heated up with contact, they reminded him of the walls of the Lehnsherr castle.

The metals reminded him of the North. Of a home he always wanted, but never had.

__

Azazel must’ve thought that getting a drink or two would distract Erik from murdering Lord Shaw, since he dragged Erik to the opposite side of the hall, away from Shaw, and away from Charles. And then some nonchalant lady had arrived, (whom Az thought was important) and had asked for a dance with the groom. And Erik had agreed, because why not, dancing meant stepping on the same floor as his husband, and moving closer to his Charles without becoming obvious.

 _‘Have I told you how alphas tend to get protective once imprinted?’_ A polished voice called in his head.

 _‘Emma? Why are you in my head again?’_ Erik cringed, and the lady in his arms frowned as if she had done something to offend him.

Erik had his mental shield down. Just in case Charles tried to contact, just like he previously had, before everything had gone wrong.

‘ _Oh, and they also get possessive.’_ Emma sounded weak, now that Erik noticed.

Erik ignored the voice in his head, and led his dancing partner closer to the other end of the hall. As subtly as he could, of course, with scores of eyes on him at all times to see if he would renounce the marriage he’d just entered into. His arms stiffened when he saw Shaw getting too close to Charles, touching too much of _his_ omega. How could Charles allow that? He hadn’t allowed Erik to get _that_ close.

 _‘Technically speaking, you were the one who kept the distance, right?’_ Emma’s voice was back to the usual level of smugness.

‘ _Please, shut up, Lady Frost.’_ Erik smiled at the red haired woman in front of him through gritted teeth.

‘ _Erik, you know that omegas behave a bit different when they’re marked right? They are more suspicious and… insecure. And, ironic as it sounds, the most doubts they have is regarding their alphas.’_

 _‘What?_ ’Erik stepped onto his partner’s foot. Apologizing, he turned his attention back to Emma.

_‘Well, think about it. All of a sudden, he is being handed his alpha, his mate, on a silver platter and all, without any notice. The one person he is supposed to obey, no matter what. The one person who is supposed to take care of him. Do you think it’s easy for him to believe that you’re the one for him?’_

_‘But, Em, you know I’d take care of him. I’d do anything for him and-’_

Erik felt a jolt of electricity, of arousal, but it wasn’t pleasing. It was almost revolting. Almost as if…

Across the hall, he saw Lord Shaw rub against _his_ groom.

__

It was late at night. Erik was sure every soul in castle was already lost in dreams. Or lost in the rhythm of their lovers for the night, a reminiscence of the imprinting between Charles and him.

Everyone but Erik, who had his heart beating like a warhammer in his chest. He stood against the thick metal door at the entrance to their bedchambers in the castle. The doors were foreign to his touch, with the sun and the stars carved in an extremely simple design, so very different from the intricate designs made of metal ribbons on the doors of his home.

They were not in the Lehnsherr castle; they still had the wedding castle for the night. The House of Lehnsherr had decided to let the guests spend their night in this castle and leave for their homes in the morning. Erik himself would set forth for the North the next day.

Right now, he was sure he couldn’t set forth into the very room. Because in his room, in his bed, was probably the only other person in the whole castle who was awake. Waiting for him, just as much as Erik was eager to see him?

His legs felt like lead. The door would probably weigh as much as an army of elephants, even if he used his powers.

It would be the best if he spent the night here, right at the doorstep. Yes. He’d be totally comfortable against the door. Why not?

__

What happened after Erik saw Shaw’s inappropriate behavior was now a bit blurry. All he remembered was leaving the woman in his arms forgotten, hurrying across the hall, his mind a growling rage of possession and fury.

Charles was leaning on the Black King, panting, and when he saw Erik, he stiffened. Without waiting for any explanations, Erik yanked him away from Shaw’s grip, and dragged him out of the hall without a word.

The guests stood in an uncomfortable silence, watching them. Lord Shaw said something about rudeness, but Erik wasn’t paying attention. The only thing he was aware of was the hand in his, complying with his decisions without any objections.

Once outside in the corridors, he pushed Charles against the glass window, and pressed a kiss in the hollow of his neck. It tasted like moonshine and honeysuckle, and dragon’s breath. And all this time, Erik wasn’t sure he even knew what these tasted like, but at the moment he just _knew_ they were the perfect adjectives to describe the taste of his lover’s skin.

Charles whimpered, but Erik didn’t pause to think whether it was because of his touch, or the cold of the glass. He aligned his body with his groom’s and pressed harder against Charles.

_‘Erik, stop.’_

That wasn’t Charles, because Charles was in front of him, lips moving with a whispered prayer of ‘please, please, _please._ ’

It took Erik a full minute to register that the voice in his mind was Emma’s.

__

That was almost a few hours ago. In the mean time, Janos and Azazel had taken care of the guests. And Emma must have talked to Charles, the way she had asked Erik to _let her take care of everything._

At what point of life did he let Emma become his mother?

He swallowed, staring at the door, as if he would look right through it if he could just stare hard enough. Where was Emma now, when he actually needed some support?

Maybe he should leave Charles alone for the night?

But his alpha senses told him that his omega needed him, and needed him in _that_ way, right _now._

But on the other hand, he wasn’t sure how much would Charles be able to handle in one night. It would be the best if he did leave, instead standing there, speculating about the alloys used to create the fillings of the door. He turned away, deciding to go look for another room.

_‘No, stop! Wait!’_

This time, the voice in his mind wasn’t Emma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everybody! And advance wishes for a happy new year =)  
> Dont kill me for the cliffhanger?


	13. Chapter 13

Erik’s heart stood still at the words echoing in his mind. He was suddenly very aware of himself; one small drop of sweat flowing down to the small of his back, the low crunching sound of his boots as he shifted his weight from one foot to another, his cloak gently moving with the light wind that sneaked into the castle probably from one of the open windows – the cloak: that wasn’t his, technically, for his was still wrapped around his groom.

It was Charles’ voice, nervous, yet hopeful, inside his mind, asking him to _stay._ Erik wanted further proof, something to show him that this was real, this was happening, but at the moment, words weren’t enough.

So, he took in a deep breath and pushed the door open.

* * *

 

 

Erik, being born and bought up in the North, didn’t remember the first time he saw snowfall. Though, he remembered the first time he actually felt connected to the frozen stars falling all around him.

War had snatched his father away, and suddenly everything seemed hollow and suffocating. Not because of the pressure of the entire House on his seven-year old shoulders- not that he was too young to estimate the burden entirely. But because he’d never get to tell his father how much he loved him. Respected him.

Ser Lehnsherr had always been strict, and they were in the middle of a disagreement, which had somehow turned into a heated argument, when one of the messengers came rushing in, bringing in words that still echoed in Erik’s nightmares.

_The South has struck._

Ser Lehnsherr had immediately left to respond. Erik vaguely remembered that day- sounds of hooves and boots. His father’s green eyes were unnaturally bright that stormy day, amongst the midnight and violet of the House banners. He looked at Erik with a complicated look, one that Erik had failed to decipher at that age.

What he also had failed to realize was, he was looking into those green eyes for the last time. His father didn’t come back on Serenity- his favorite horse. He came back three months later, underneath the Lehnsherr banner, and ironic as it was, Erik had never seen his father look as _serene_ , as he did that day, eyes closed forever.

Erik was sitting outside, and the clouds had turned daylight into a murky twilight. He was unable to decide which feeling had taken over his mind- grief or regret. Oh how bad did he want to go back in time and tell his father that he was wrong! Erik was wrong and his father was right-always had been. Erik had never expressed himself, but he loved his father, and now he would do anything, a _nything_ , to go back, just for a few seconds and tell him how much he loved him. What his father meant to him, even though Erik pretended never to listen to him. It was as if, someone had taken away the light, the brightness from his life. His existence seemed just as dull as the skies around him.

And then his mother, her face still streaked with tears, slowly sat next to him. She didn’t say anything; she just looked up to the skies and smiled.

Erik saw the first snowflake land on his nose through tear-hazed eyes. It was bright, like a small star confined within its margins. He looked at his mother, and then the skies, and then back at the sad smile his mother had on her face. And he realized everything- as if the snowflake had jumpstarted something inside him. That his mother needed him, that his House needed him. That was what his father would want him do.

Erik suddenly realized the look his father had in his eyes. That was _pride._ Maybe Ser Lehnsherr did know how much Erik loved him. Maybe he did know that Erik wasn’t really angry with him.

People said, Erik had his father’s eyes.

Erik was born in the snow, but it was the first time he appreciated how beautiful it was. Like a small constellation of _hope_ , surrounding him. He still had his mother, and the reputation of the Lehnsherrs. Things his father valued the most. And he had the sudden urge to do everything in his ability to take care of them. To give the world to his mother. To take the Lehnsherr House to heights even his father had only dreamt of.

It was as if the snow had done something to him. He felt warm, even in the freezing temperatures. As if he was surrounded by a blanket of _love._

* * *

 

The bed sheets were colored like a snowstorm, blue and white satin that flowed down to the floors like a frozen cascade. The pearls and laces and the delicate artwork around the edges, glowed in the soft candlelight, almost like raided treasures peeking out from an avalanche-wrecked country. The frame of the bed, like most other furniture of the room, was carved ivory, matching the theme of the room- straight from an ice palace.

Moonlight peaked in through the windows, the breeze gently ruffling the gossamer curtains of the window, and the matching set around the bed. Through the delicate white material, Erik saw a pair of blue eyes looking tentatively at him.

Charles was sitting in the center of the huge bed, surrounded by the gossamer bed curtains on all sides like some unknown angel’s wings, looking very fragile, even though his posture showed off the rigorous training he must’ve had. Erik’s own cloak, which had previously been wrapped around Charles’ shoulders, was folded neatly on the high-backed chair at the end of the room. Moonlight shone off his skin like silver.

Erik sucked in a breath of air sharply, catching Charles’ attention. Green eyes met blue, like the first draft of spring winds warming a frozen country. Even through the translucent curtains, Erik could make out the delicate shadows cast by his groom’s eyelashes (his _groom_ , finally), the swell of the beautifully colored lips, the innocence in his face, which somehow was seducing Ser Lehnsherr like _he_ was in his early summers again.

Finding this unexpected greed in his chest, Erik took a step closer. But he felt something die inside himself when Charles flinched back, _away_ from Erik. Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Erik walked to the bed, slowly. He approached the bed carefully, like he was approaching a wounded wild animal. But his entire careful demeanor washed out when Charles’ scent hit him, making his nostrils flare and his mouth water.

Erik couldn’t pry into Charles’ mind, the young telepath must’ve shielded again.

Hoping he didn’t actually intimidate his groom, Erik slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, on the other side of the curtain, his eyes never leaving Charles’.

He poured all his love into his eyes, as much as he could, as much as _he_ thought he was capable of. He tried to convey the purity of his desire, the desperation of his need, his concern, and his pain. Charles looked back, his expression blank; but if one were to look deep into his eyes, like Erik did, they would see all the calculations being made underneath the carefully constructed surface.

Time slowed down, as Erik often seemed to experience when he was around Charles. Erik slowly raised his hand, placing it gently on the curtain, and in the piercing silence of the room, even that small motion seemed to make a disturbing amount of noise.

Charles’ eyes slowly moved to the palm laid flat on the curtain, and then back to Erik. Erik gave a small nod, so gently that he was sure Charles would’ve missed it if he were not paying attention.

Erik was pretty sure he had forgotten how to breathe, that he would melt against the silken covers, waiting. Waiting as the candles burned and the crystal chandelier moved with the gentle wind. Waiting with his heart in his palm, offering it to his husband.

And then, with the rustling of the covers and the abnormal beat that Erik’s heart skipped, Charles gently rose up to his knees, the soft covers slowly falling away, exposing miles and miles of pale skin. He moved towards Erik, on the other side of the gossamer curtain, hesitated, and then placed his palm in front of Erik’s aligning their fingers against the thin cloth.

Heart beating like war drums again, Erik raised his other hand and placed it against the curtain, his eyes slowly motioning for Charles to join. Charles eyes flickered to the waiting palm, and then back to Erik so fast, it was as if he had never broken the stare.

When Charles aligned his other hand as well, Erik realized that the war hammers in his heart were not preparations for another battle. They were celebrating, announcing victory and homecoming and reunions and joy.

Erik didn’t notice that he had already moved, pressing his body against Charles’, through the curtain; not until he felt Charles’ warm breath on his lips. The cold winds through the moonlit window reminded him of the blanket of love he felt years ago, that lonely night.

It was as if Charles’ eyes had all the answers he was looking for, nepenthe for his troubled shoulders, and satisfaction for his insatiable desire.

* * *

 

_What they say is true. Like the parched, praying for water, the drowning, gasping for air, and the lost, looking for light, do not need to be told what to do once they are led to what they are looking for, similarly lovers do not need words or letters or guidance. It is said that when you look into your lover’s eyes, stars align, and waves meet, and time slows down, like lazy dust motes floating in the afternoon sun of an old, abandoned mansion. It is all written in the cosmos, on the scrolls of fate, and the quills of destiny, in songs of sirens and on the wings of dragons._

 

* * *

 

Charles looked back with his eyes full of faith, and trust, and a distant speck of what Erik thought would burn into happiness one day. And just like that, they moved, in sync, their lips greeting each other like lost lovers. The diaphanous curtain almost seemed invisible, untouchable when the love that pierced the air was so palpable. Erik would’ve laughed, laughed at himself, getting to kiss his husband again, through another barrier _again_ , seeming doomed to yearn for an actual touch forever.

But as soon as they parted, Charles left his touch, taking away his warmth, and light from Erik’s eyes.

The telepath then proceeded to lift the bed curtains, inviting Erik in. And for the first time in his life, Erik was face to face with the eyes he was aching for. Eyes as blue as stellar nebulae, lips painted with dragon fire, and an inviting mind as harmonic as his mother’s lullaby. As Erik stared, Charles’ lips slowly turned into a small smile, eyes playfully challenging again.

Smiling what must be his own version of Emma’s Frosty grin, Erik took hold of the curtains, and lifted the veil.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! Thank you everyone for following this story. I hope I could keep up with your expectations. I love you all for your beautiful comments. I want to mention Roz's name again; without her this story would've been full of awkward errors and grammatical mistakes. You go gurl!  
> I'm sorry I took some time to write (whaaaat? You all say eight months is not "some time"? Please dont hit me. Its all your love that keeps me alive..)  
> I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing. If the OP can tell me who they are, I'd like to gift this story to you. =)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover art for "Kisses through the Veil"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048966) by [avictoriangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avictoriangirl/pseuds/avictoriangirl)




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